Rosemary's Letter to Hilda

Hi Hilda;

I was just so thrilled when I ran into Floyd Bowser at the High School reunion last month and he passed your address along to me. Goodness gracious me. It seems an eternity since I left the warm, loving embrace of our little town in the mid-west to make my fortune in the promised land of New York. So many interesting things happened to me in the decades that followed.

About 30 years ago, I was at an exclusive social function and I suppose it must have been one of those nights when fate chose to smile upon me. I remember it as clearly as if it happened yesterday. That was the night I met my husband, the man who made all of my dreams come true. He was the most perfect, handsome, intelligent man I had ever encountered. As I mentioned, fate was working for me that night as I almost missed him. A thick cloud of cigarette smoke hung over the bar, making it difficult to see other people until you were just a few feet away from them.

I was able to make out his form through the blue haze and was quite impressed with his physical attributes. The moment our eyes met, it was as if a bolt of lightning flashed across the sea of heads between us. He was a performer and his name was "Jack Hammer". He was still sweating from the exertion of his last performance and the beads of perspiration sparkled like tiny diamonds as they ran down his shaved chest and were quickly absorbed by the purple cummerbund that ran about the waist band of his abbreviated green g-string.

He smiled as he saw me thirstily drinking in his exceptionally masculine attributes. I was temporarily blinded as the light from the disco ball rotating behind me was reflected back into my eyes from the surface of his ultra-white teeth. He gently pushed aside the throng of matronly women who were flocked about him. Their nicotine stained fingers were tenaciously gripping thick wads of one dollar bills that they intended to stuff into his already burgeoning g-string during his next performance. He began to make his way around the bar, his gaze never leaving mine.

I quickly quaffed what remained of my boilermaker, slammed down the empty mug, ground out my cigarette, and motioned to the bartender to fetch me a refill. All the while, my eyes were consuming the beauty of this majestic male beast. His muscular shoulders and chest flexed and relaxed in an extremely innervating manner as he approached me. His taught abdominal muscles formed a perfect 8 pack that would have allowed a dozen people to play tic tac toe simultaneously. His lean narrow hips swayed hypnotically from side to side, supported by two muscular legs of sculpted granite, that tensed and relaxed with each erotic step he took.

"Hi gorgeous!" he said with a wide smile, a provocative Barry White tone in his sensual voice, "I'm Jack Hammer."

"Well hi Mr. Hammer," I blurted out demurely. "I'm Rosemary Whole, but you can call me Rosy."

"Well then Rosy Whole it is baby!" he replied in a sensually charged half whisper. "Jack Hammer is just my stage name. My real name is Richard Stiff, but you can call me Dick."

"Well then Dick Stiff it is sir?" I said in a shy half whisper. "What sign are you Dick?"

"Sign? Why I'm your sign Baby!" he replied with a provocative smile. "What's a knock down gorgeous doll like you doing in a dump like this? I feel like a stray dog who's just stumbled onto a wagon full of fresh entrails behind the local slaughter house."

"Oh," I said, giggling nervously, "I bet you sweet talk all of the girls like that." I looked down nervously in an attempt to avoid his overly stimulating gaze, but had to move my eyes back up immediately as I found myself staring at his billowing green g-string and it's overflowing cargo of one dollar bills.

"Nah!" he replied indifferently, "Most of the babes around here are romantic retreads with nothing on their mind but a night of sexual gymnastics. They take you home with them, talk you into giving them a top drawer shagging that would turn a nun into a sex addict. Then, when it's over, you feel empty and dirty; that salacious kind of dirty that soap just won't wash off."

"Oh really?" I replied, wondering exactly what salacious meant. "Why do you say that?"

He chuckled at my apparent naivety. "So, you want to get together after my last show baby?" he asked intoxicatingly.

"Oh, I don't know," I replied. "I'm not really the type of gal who just hooks up with a guy on the same night as I meet him."

"Well, suit yourself sugar," he replied as he turned to leave. "I was hoping I might get the chance to rock your world, but I ain't a pushy kind of guy."

Believe me Hilda, that was all I needed to convince me that this was the man with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life. How could I ignore that kind of eloquence? I grabbed the back of his sweaty g-string as he began to walk away. "Hold it!" I said, and as 30 or 40 perspiration soaked one dollar bills fell to the floor, I said in the most sultry voice imaginable, "I'd love to get together with you after your last show Mr. Stiff."

We went back to his place at about three o'clock in the morning and I was simply putty in his hands. Dick Stiff introduced me to the physical side of love. Sure, I'd let a few of the guys back home, like Fester Nobb and Lance Boyle, get to second base a couple of times, but I had no idea what I was missing until that night with Dick. I could hardly get my legs back together for at least a week after surrendering my chastity to that unstoppable love machine. He was just so eager Hilda! When he mounted me, I realized how a piece of cloth must feel when it's being mended by a Singer sewing machine. You'll find it hard to believe Hilda, but that unbelievably romantic encounter with the man who was to become my husband took place over 30 years ago. The love we've shared ever since is the sort that poets write about.

I never left him after that one fantastic night of love. The next morning, he took me out for breakfast and then we went to the local Goodyear Store to buy a new set of tires. I can still remember the way that he looked at me over the tires, as I helped him mount them on his house. His eyes were glowing with true love as he asked me to stay by his side forever and be his wife. I just couldn't say yes fast enough.

I best leave off my story here Hilda. Just about now, Dick will be finishing up a show at the Ladies chapter of the Happy Hills Assisted Living complex on the other side of town. He always needs a back massage when he gets home from a hard night at the office. At his age, you can only do so many pelvic thrusts without developing back problems. Needless to say, we're both real happy that the government hasn't gone ahead with the often proposed replacement of the one dollar bill with a one dollar coin. A g-string full of coins would not only be heavy but could also be very dangerous, for both the dancers and the audience.

Bye for now and please say hello to all of our old friends Hilda.

Your old friend,

Rosy Whole