Chapter 9
May Kramer did not know what she had walked into. Literally speaking! At first, she felt so shy about walking across the lawn, then stepping into the half-circular clearing surrounded with cars. She heard the loud catcalls, the whistles, some very pointed remarks and invitations.
May bit back a sudden flood of tears. She might as well be naked on stage, for the brief protection afforded by the skimpy costume she wore. What was happening to her? Was she stepping down so low as to appear in public in skin tight clothes?
"Over here," yelled a lusty voice. It came from a beat up coupe. The driver wore a porkpie hat set jauntily on the crown of his head. He kept slamming his fist against the door. "Hey, cutie-bounce right over. I'm hungry and I want to eat-what've you got that I can eat?" This was followed by loud laughs from the back of his coupe.
Quickly, May Kramer went over to him. She stood too close and made the mistake of turning her back to the rear of the car. A calloused hand reached out, gripped her by the slope of one buttock and squeezed painfully tight.
May screamed. Some of the other girls glanced her way; Jo Laurence was in the midst of bending over, to hear one of her hard-of-hearing customers and also give him a chance to get an eyeful of her milky globes, when she heard the yell. She looked up. A frown crossed her face. She was annoyed.
Forgetting her own customer, she stalked over to this car and snapped, "Look, buddy, if you want to do something with those hands, try it on yourself!"
The culprit flushed darkly and tried to hide himself among his buddies in the crowded back seat. "Can'tcha take a joke?" he snickered.
"Give the girl your order! She's busy!"
When May Kramer was left alone, she was so nervous, she kept dropping her stubby pencil. Each time she bent over, she was aware of the way her rounded bottom leaped into near-naked view. She heard a few giggles and a hoarse voice saying, "She's got pink panties-I saw 'em. Real pink-pinker'n her bottom."
"I'll pink and black and blue your bottom," she snapped back. She was already learning how to be brash and rude. "You said you want four malted milks. Okay-I'll bring them right to you." She scratched the orders on a note pad and hurried to the cook house.
All foods were prepared at this small cook house in which three short order cooks worked tirelessly. Everything was actually pre-packaged and pre-cut. Franks, French fries, hamburgers, delicatessens, were all ready made, precooked. Just a two-minute "heat up" on the grill, and they were ready to be served, eaten, and cause indigestion!
Not like home cooking, thought May Kramer, as she told the soda fountain boy to prepare her four malteds-black and whites. The boy was a college kid with a ready smile and a mischievous grin that everyone called cute. He was the only one who did not flirt with her.
Either too young, or too experienced, thought May ruefully. I wish someone would like me for more reasons than my breasts!
Taking the cardbard tray with slots into which were fitted the malted milk containers, she returned to the beat up car. "Here you are," she managed a wry smile. "That will be one dollar and thirty-five cents." She placed the cardboard tray in a receptacle attached to the car door. She hoped she could get two dollars and thereby net a sixty-five cent tip. It wasn't much but about ten or twenty of them during the day would help her out in her sad state of affairs.
The driver shoved something toward her. She clutched it in her hand and not until she wiggled her bottom in a natural walk as she went to the cash register in the cook house, did she open her palm. She felt her anger rising. Exactly one dollar and thirty-five cents.
A burst of loud laughter came from the car. "Cheated, eh?" The voices were abusive. Moments later, the empty malted milk containers were hurled through the air, narrowly missing May Kramer; the car zoomed around and vanished on the Freeway.
"Don't feel too badly, honey." This was another car hop, a strawberry redhead with the most whitest skin imaginable. Short, plump, it did her good-her hips bunched out in twin pillows. Her breasts were like thick tubes, swinging low and sensuous. This girl wore her bolero jacket wide apart and deliberately liked the way her blouse was unbuttoned. She had a back lace bra; the half cups were really cut low and were just begging to be removed!
"Are they all so rude?" May was on the verge of tears.
"They sure are, honey." She nodded toward some new arrivals. "But if they give the tips, why feel badly?"
"They put their hands on my hips," she lamented, wanting to drop everything and just get away from this wretched place!"
The strawberry redhead laughed, let her silky soft hair shake in the breeze. "That's worth a half buck, dearie. When they see my red hair and ask if it's natural-well-"
May drew back. "You mean...."
There was less time for talking. Already, anxious honks demanded fast service. This time. May Kramer played it cool. She watched the way some of the other girls set an exaggerated bounce to their walk, and laughed easily. She tried to imitate them, with some favorable results.
Her next customer was a muscle boy in a white turtle neck sweater, tight around his strong chest, emphasizing the smooth curve of his biceps. He was not in the driver's seat-but in back. The driver was an older man with white hair and a flabby face. Even his hands were flabby.
"What'll you have, handsome?" May tried to talk smart-alecky.
The older man reared back in a pseudo-shocked manner. "Goodness me, does it show?" His hand fluttered to his face and he clucked his tongue.
From behind, the masculine voice of the young muscle boy declared, "The cutie meant me, so come down from those pink clouds." He flashed a disarming smile.
"What a relief," the effeminate driver sighed. Glancing in his rear view mirror, he said, "Order whatever you want, Bobby. You know I'm not stingy."
Bobby snapped, "Better not be-or I go back down to North Beach and flag my muscles at someone else." His order consisted of a triple-decker hamburger, a double milk shake and a hunk of apple pie. "Got to keep up my strength, you know."
May took down the order, then asked the effeminate man in front, "What'll you have, sir?"
"Sir? Oh-you mean me? Goodness gracious. I'll just have an order of toast and black coffee. At my age and condition, it's not my strength I'm worried about-it's my figure!"
This was too weird for comment so May smiled indulgently and moments later, brought back the order. She gave the bill to the driver who glanced at it, then pushed three dollar bills into her hand. "Keep the change, darling."
The good looking muscle boy, his hair a thick black brush cut, was busy chomping away with gusto. He let his eyes travel up and down May Kramer, but said nothing. He was already spoken for and he was wise enough to know which side his bread was buttered on.
A dollar tip. May's feelings of remorse were washed away. She was feeling better. Things were brightening up.
May learned quickly throughout the day-her first day was going to set the foundation for the rest of the days she would work at this car hop job.
She learned that a man alone was generally quiet; for example, there had been that dapper dressed man, in his late 30's. He had a pin stripe suit, a diamond stickpin in a ruby red tie, and a boiled white shirt. He just wanted a chicken salad sandwich and a coke. May glanced at his license plate. Nevada.
While she waited for the money to be paid, she pretended not to watch the way he stared at the soft shadow between her breasts. He fingered a well-stacked billfold. There was a slight hesitation. "Working here late?" he asked.
May thought carefully. Better not be abrupt. Why get cheated out of a tip? "Until around ten. Then I go home."
"Live far from here?" He was fingering a five dollar bill. He spoke in a low, almost weasle-like tone.
She was unfamiliar with this area so how could she give a fake address. "Not too far-just about ten miles-in San Francisco."
"That so? I'm stopping there for a week. I'm at the Hotel Wilkins. Know where it is?"
She did not know where anything was. "I ... I don't think so...." she faltered.
"Right on the corner of Folsom and Sixth-opposite that new development of garden apartments."
"Of course-how stupid of me. In fact, I live in that development. I just moved there from L.A. That's why I'm so stupid about knowing San Francisco." She prayed he would not ask her about L.A.
He smiled easily, letting his eyes travel down to her naked thighs, locked together, pinkishly soft. "I'll bet you're in Building 2. The one on the corner."
"You win your bet-right on the ground floor."
"Do you live alone?"
She nodded. "I get home around 11 o'clock and usually loaf until midnight. Then I go to sleep."
There was a slight pause. He took out a matchbook folder and scribbled down some words. He handed the folder to her-in which was stuck a five dollar bill. "My name's on the folder. Give me a call-or shall I call on you?"
She took the folder. The crisp crinkle of the money felt good as she held it tightly. "I don't have a phone as yet. But you're welcome to stop around-let's make it soon, okay?"
He laughed amiably. "Real soon, baby. Oh, what's your name?"
"May."
"Just May?"
Why not tell some truth? "May Kramer. It's on my doorbell." With a deliberate saucy wiggle of her hips, she let her thighs move sensuously as she walked off and went to the cashier's booth in the cook house.
She was walking on clouds. She had made a four dollar tip just by flirting with a man. What harm was there in that? If she could keep it up, there would be more tips. Of course, not all would be easily duped, but if she just teased them, it would be profitable enough.
And May Kramer wasn't greedy.
All she wanted was to net enough in tips and the straight ten dollar daily wage so she could get ahead of herself, buy a better wardrobe, and make it to San Francisco-from there, maybe Los Angeles or anywhere else. Once she had money, the world was in her hip pocket.
The cashier, a frowsy, overly rouged woman who had seen better daysr handed May her change. "They like you, eh?"
"I guess so."
"A new girl always gets 'em. Take it from me, honey, make hay while the sun shines. We got lots of repeat customers here and if they get tired of you, they don't even let you serve them. So take 'em for what you can get out of 'em while the getting is good. I've been around these places long enough so I know what I'm talking about."
May liked the older woman for at least being honest about making money. "I'm not going to let them go too far," she declared.
"Suit yourself, honey. Lots of the girls make dates with the customers who pick them up after closing time, around ten o'clock. That's the real way of making money. I could tell you lots of stories. Some of the richest broads on Nob Hill made it tins way. Even those dames on the screen-the best talent they had was knowing how to act excited when being pawed by a producer. Once you strike it, the sky's the limit. You got a cute pair of boobies-and the way you wiggle your hips," she laughed in a cackling echo, "you don't have to worry none about competition."
She bit her lower lip as she unzipped a small side pocket of her bolero jacket. All the girls put their tip money in this pocket and exchanged small bills and loose change for larger bills as the day wore on. "I'm not going to get ahead that way."
"You want to get in the movies?"
"No. I just want to be able to live decent and right"
The rouged Woman was surprised. "How do you like that? We finally got someone decent around here. All those other broads want to be screen heroines-they haven't even got sense enough to play act with the customers, let alone know how to act in front of a camera. Well, maybe a lady will do this place a lot of good."
There was little time left for further talk. It was this way for the rest of the afternoon. Only a half hour for something to eat, and then she was back on her feet.
A car hop.
She sure did hop.
By the time it was close to ten o'clock and the Willow Branch Motel was ready to call it a night, she ached all over. May never before felt so tired-and so happy! Her day's take had been a grand total of twenty-three dollars. Add that to the ten dollar pay offered by Tony Lindgren and she was rich-real rich!
In the bungalow used for a dressing room, all the girls chatted excitedly about everything that happened during the day. They were friendly to May Kramer but she, being new, was a bit shy. She could feel her ears burning as one girl giggled to the other.
"He took out pictures of himself with a few girls. Talk about topless bathing suits-they didn't excite me.
But he wasn't even wearing any bathing suit at all!" Then she proceeded to half-whisper about the "cute guy" and how he was so big and all; this conversation ended in loud laughter.
How could they be so bold and flagrant about suck intimate matters? May thought, as she slipped out of her costume, feeling extremely self-conscious at the way some of the half-naked girls stared at her breasts. Even when May slithered out of her panties, for a moment, the talking came to a stop. A few girls were staring wide-eyed at the soft curve of her hips, the way the shadowy creases played across her thighs. Two girls whispered to each other, nodding toward May.
"Are those for real?" asked the strawberry redhead May Kramer had spoken to earlier that day. Boldly, the redhead reached out and stroked May's elastic bouncy breasts.
May felt a tremor. Desire flushed her deep red. Her breasts rose to the occasion; the tips already leaped into elongated life. She was conscious of a sweeping sensation at the bottom of her belly and acutely aware of her nakedness. She drew together both thighs, framing her triangular grove of Venus as a horny barrier. "Y-yes, they're real." Hotly ashamed, she stepped into another pair of silky panties, relieved when they offered some covering. The silk kissed her upper thighs, came to an elastic spring against her waist. "I don't wear falsies."
A few other girls had stepped closer. The talking resumed. But all eyes were on this dark-haired, round-breasted, sharp-tipped girl who had a natural shyness about her in contrast to the smart alecky manner of the more experience car hops.
One girl looked at May's breast while the feverish girl sought to slip into her silk print dress in a hurry. The girl sighed, pointed to her own mounds, half-concealed in low cut black lace bra. "I wish I could go without a bra-but my breasts aren't so big or uptilted as yours and just have to do something!"
May was nervous. She lifted her dress high up above her head. The action caused her twin mounds to ride u high and outward. Moments before the silk print dress was lowered, as her arms were stretched up high, May Kramer felt the fingertips of a few of the girls.
She did not know whether to be angry or flattered. For the moment, she was nervous. "P-please ... I'm so tired. She breathed a sigh of relief as the silky swirl of the print dress settled around her torso.
One girl, still in costume, palmed her blouse covered breasts. "It takes mine a long time to 'wake up,' if yo know what I mean. Goodness, yours are sensitive, aren' they?"
May flushed hotly, knowing the others were listening even though they pretended to be absorbed with their ow costume changes and snatches of talk. "I'm late-I have to go out...." She did not even bother to put on a pair a silk stockings-those left by Louise Anders. She just put her feet into her patent leather pumps and made a hasty exit, without looking back. As soon as the door was closed, she could hear the loud snickers, a few pointed remarks and even a bold comment: "The guy who can sleep in those white pillows is real lucky!" And also: "I wouldn't mind chewing those candy drops myself. I'd go wild over them."
As May Kramer fled to the comparative safety of her room, she felt the anxiety and tensions rising to the surface. She might not have minded their intimate explorations of her body. She should have expected it. After all, a group of girls together in various stages of undress would only naturally be curious to see one another. She knew that men were alike. In fact, sex play between showering or otherwise nude men was more common because of the aggressive nature of the male sex. She had heard about summer camps, private clubs, locker rooms. It should not have astonished her.
But May was more worried about her reactions. She had felt thrilled at the sight of flashing buttocks and the soft bounce of naked breasts. She had had to fight back her urges to examine pink tipped mounds. She would have loved to kiss them, to let her tongue make a moist trail down the shadowy cleavage dividing the twin peaks of sheer soft glory.
Was she becoming a confirmed lesbian?
She admitted to herself that the sight of a man was only partially stimulating. But then, nudity is always exciting. It's normal to be thrilled at the sight of a naked person of any sex. If that weren't true then why would anyone buy those cheesecake magazines or nudist publications? But how the thrill was consummated made all the difference in the world!
Now she was alone in the little storage cabin that had been made over to accommodate her until she was financially able to rent an apartment in San Francisco. Now there was a bit of irony! She was just a few miles from this big city and no matter how she tried, she just couldn't make it!
As May Kramer stretched out on the surprisingly comfortable bed, stared around at the various crates and overturned boxes, she cradled her head in her arms and tried to relax. It had been a hard day: her first day of work as a girl car hop. But it was a profitable one and she would hold on to the job for about a month and then be able to pay her way to Frisco, as she heard them call this big city.
The memory of Louise and Mike Anders came back to her as she closed her eyes. Louise-lovely, soft feminine, with a body that could drive anyone wild. She had loved May-and May had loved Louise, too. But how could a wife deliberately involve her in such a weird situation?
May understood. Louise had purposely planned the affair. She must have had it in mind when she picked May up on the road. Louise Anders selected a motel so that she could involve the three of them in the act of debauchery and then make a hasty exit the next morning, leaving nothing behind but a box of silk stockings as a "gift."
Some people get their kicks in the most bizarre ways!
Louise must have gotten a wild thrill out of loving May, acting a real lesbian, knowing that her husband, Mike, was looking through the keyhole. And Mike got his charge out of it, too-the way he ... kissed Louise-where lesbians loved to be kissed! And Mike got a kick out of it, too.
The way he peeled down Louise's white panties, then the way he loved her all over-and finally, standing up and-using those panties on himself while looking squarely at May-it was just too much.
An exhibitionist.
May had heard that lots of those muscle men and weightlifters thrilled at displaying their physiques, just as bathing beauties obtain a vicarious thrill out of exposing themselves. Mike Anders was probably that type.
May would not have minded it too much if only she had been prepared for it. Everything had happened so swiftly, she was still out of breath.
Stretching lazily, she kicked off her shoes, then got out of her dress and slipped out of her panties. It felt good to stretch out nakedly in bed. She fell asleep, hugging the pillow as though it were another girl.