Musings in a Little White Dress

 

My new friend Sally has embraced my practice of wearing loose, cotton dresses "sans culotte" during our early morning desert walks. Temperatures have been blazing in the desert southwest the last few weeks (August is the hottest month on record ever) so short, flimsy sundresses are ideal for walking. Nothing is tight, nothing rubs, and there is no chaffing on our nude skin underneath. And, of course, they are great fun for teasing and touching each other.

Two days a week, I now tutor my 15-year-old neighbor, who I call "Trouble," and two of her friends because their school is now fully online. Originally, her mom was going to home school her officially, but since Trouble's school went virtual, she was saved the hassle of the required homeschooling paperwork.

In any case, our tutoring sessions start early, on my patio while the air temperature is still tolerable when augmented with my water misting system. There is not much reason to change from my little white dresses to tutor the girls, so that is what I have been wearing. On Thursdays, we have "dress-up day" so the girls can, at least once a week, fix their hair, put on pretty clothes, and feel like they are "going to school." I join in by putting my hair up, adding a piece of jewelry or two, and wearing a pretty pair of shoes. And, yes, I put on panties when the girls are here.

Yesterday, Trouble and her friends poked a little fun at me, and had a hearty good giggle, by dressing alike for school. All three girls showed up in pretty white sundresses and cute, strappy sandals. I'd love to share the pictures we took of all us in our white dresses, but, of course, I can't do that. You'll just have to use your imagination.

The girls and I talked about how people are coping with the pandemic, staying at home, schooling at home, and working at home without normal social gatherings, interactions, and just plain having fun, unlimited by distancing and masks.

So their creative writing assignment this week (with proper spelling and grammar always) is to write a dream. They are to describe a dream they wish they could have, or want to have, now, that would seem so real that when they wake up, remembering it, they would feel it actually happened. I asked them to let their imagination soar and not feel limited by the reality of the day, time, or space. It's their dream to dream.

Next Thursday we will share their dreams.

Back to School

 

It's still crazy hot in Arizona, our air is dense and hazy from wildfire smoke from both here and California, our monsoon rains have fizzled out, and students are back in school, albeit, for the most part, online. All of the college classes I teach are online (thank goodness) and I help home-school three teenaged high school girls.

The smoky haze has curtailed my morning walks. It isn't much fun smelling and tasting the air in the open desert spaces I normally associate with sweet fresh air.

But I can't complain. The first weeks of a new semester getting to know my online students is challenging and interesting. Tutoring Trouble, my 15-year-old neighbor and her friends is rewarding and fun. Swimming is delicious when it's 111°, and it provides an opportunity to go nearly naked in public (always a plus). Then there's Zoom for class conferences, for chatting with colleagues, and, yuck, administrative meetings.

Zoom is okay for occasionally connecting with friends and family. If I want privacy with someone special, I use Facetime. Somehow, I don't trust Zoom for private moments that might involve a playful "webcam girl" call or "chatterbate" fun.

Facebook let me out of their "jail" this past weekend. Thanks to my alter ego Ellen Arroway for stepping in for me for a month. I miss her already.

I don't have any stories to tell today. I'll give that some thought tonight and maybe have something to share later in the week.

Short Hair - The Full Nudes

Over on Facebook, I participated in a Maya Monday by posting photos of girls with short hair. I cropped these images for Facebook, but think the full photos need to be seen to be appreciated. Short hair has context, after all, it's part of a certain look.

 

The Scottish Couple

 

The Scottish couple at the golf tournament was not as attractive as Jaime and Claire above, but they were both good looking and athletic. "Fit at Forty," was their motto, although they could have easily passed for much younger. For reference, they were the couple with the "kindest roaming hands" the first night of the tourney and the wife was the woman who bought me the lace blouse to wear with my kilt later in the week.

The last night of the tournament festivities seemed more subdued than earlier nights. Maybe people were exhausted. And some people were already leaving town, so there were fewer in the bars and restaurants. I made a point to move around that evening so I could engage as many people I had met that week as possible. Dragon Lady told us sometimes hostesses were given gifts or tips by guests on the last night. She was right, besides some cash, I was given earrings, a necklace, golf socks, and several polo shirts from other golf courses.

Just after 11 pm, my "employment" was over and I found myself having a "nightcap" with the Scottish couple, Glenn and Sorcha (not their real names, of course). The singer/guitarist finished his last set, so the bar became quiet for the first time all week. Glenn and Sorcha were seated on either side of me.

Sorcha spoke quietly, her Scottish accent not quite a whisper, so no one could overhear, "Sparks, you know we've become very fond of you." Glenn nodded.

"I like you guys too," I said.

"By fond, I mean more than liking dear. We are hoping you feel the same way and might be curious enough to join us in our room this evening.

I gulped. "I don't want to assume too much...."

"A threesome, yes," Sorcha said. "But not what Americans call a "threeway. Glenn would like to watch me make love with you, then I would watch him with you."

My mind went blank. I'd been in more than one threeway but had never been asked so utterly politely. I looked from one to the other. Their expressions were part amusement, part hopeful. I felt them, somehow, I felt they had a genuine desire for me. I thought about it and realized that the very idea of being with them made me wet.

"Okay," I heard my self say. "May I use your shower first?"

I spent most of the night with them doing exactly what Sorcha suggested.

Sorcha and I played on the king bed as Glenn watched. He would sit in an armchair he dragged over to the bed or walked around the bed for the best view of whatever interested him at the time.

When Glenn took me, Sorcha, crawled in bed with us, close. She'd whisper to me now and then, something funny about what Glenn was doing to me. And when Glenn rolled me into the doggie position, Sorcha held my hands and kissed me.

In about three hours it seemed like we had more sex than I had experienced in the previous six months. We did all the things couples do from the simple to the silly to the downright naughty.

At 2 am we ordered cheeseburgers and cold beers from room service. We sat together, mostly naked, munching away as if we had known each other for years and years.

They asked me to stay the night, but I wanted to get back to my bed and sleep for 10 hours. They had to be up early for a flight to Las Vegas. As I dressed, Glenn tried to give me five crisp $100 bills, "A gift, a token," he said.

"Thanks, but no, Glenn," I said. Our threesome was genuine fun, among friends. We all felt the honesty of it. It was never about money. Glenn really was just trying to be nice. 

I did get their phone numbers and email addresses. Three years later I saw them again in Scotland and stayed with them for a couple of days. We laughed and enjoyed the memory of our tryst, but didn't repeat it. We were just friends after all.

Tournament Week II

 

My first two days as a hostess for the golf tournament went about as expected. There were many exciting and engaging opportunities to meet celebrities as well as wealthy, seriously dedicated golf fans. Many knew each other well from attending all the major golf events around the country. Dragon Lady introduced me around as a hostess -- not be confused with escorts or the caddie babes -- which meant, supposedly, "here to be helpful, look pretty, friendly" but essentially, "hands-off." I started to blend in like all the wannabe MAWs (model, actress, whatever) at Hollywood parties.

I've never wanted to blend in. The shy exhibitionist side of me preferred to stand out if only just a little.

Before I reported for work on the third day, I stopped by a seamstress' shop that advertised "one day service" and asked the owner if she could hem my shorts so my bum would peek out just a tad more than slightly. She laughed at me. But, she had me put the shorts on, chalked and pinned them, and told me to come back that afternoon.

The woman was an artist. My tush never looked as good as it did in those shorts. Wearing them between 5 pm and 8 pm at the resort, my "blending in" ended. I got three invitations to dinner that night.

On the fourth day, I took my polo shirts to the seamstress/artist. "Can you crop these?" She did it on the spot, 30 minutes, two shirts. Why crop the polo shirts? Polos with shorts was the official uniform of hostesses. Dragon Lady never said we couldn't crop them.

Fourth day at the resort. My tips exceeded my salary. Dragon Lady says, "Cute, but dial it back. Try golfing attire if you want a change. That is a little too California." I had dinner that night with a group of Scottish couples who were crazy for a current young Scottish golfing sensation, Carly Booth. At 17 she was the youngest woman ever to qualify for the women's European tour. They showed me a picture of her (above). I remembered the words of Dragon Lady, "...golfing attire...."

On the fifth day, I bought a red plaid mini kilt, black tee shirt, and matching OTK socks at Pac Sun in the Tucson Mall. When I got to the to resort at 5 pm, I made a beeline for the bar where the Scots normally hung out. As the afternoon and evening progressed, I was made an honorary Scot, a member of their "links society," and received numerous invitations to visit Bonnie Scotland. When it came time to change into a dress, one of the Scottish women took me to a boutique in the resort. There, she bought me an exquisite, white lace blouse to wear with my kilt for the evening. It is still the finest blouse I own.

Dragon Lady pulled me aside just before 11 pm. "There are tournaments in Phoenix and Las Vegas soon if you want to expand your horizons. I can connect you." I had heard that term before, "expand your horizons" and knew what it meant. "Thanks, but no," I said, "this tournament was more than enough for me."

She stared at me for a moment and with a quizzical look said, "You know, I keep up with the hostesses, who they are with, what they do, how late they stay, and what is being said about them. And I've heard that each one of them, except you, has hooked up with at least one person here."

"Oh wow," I said, blinking innocently, as poker-faced as I could manage.

She burst out laughing, "Okay, okay. Be sure to wear that outfit again tomorrow. It's a hit"

The next day, the final day of the tournament, all of the hostesses wore mini skirts and OTKs.

With tips, I made nearly $4,000 that week (cash), ate at the best restaurants, drank the best in wines and liquor, and met some genuinely terrific people. All for just looking cute, being nice to people, and having fun.

And, although they offered to pay me, I couldn't take money from the lovely Scottish couple I did hook-up with the last night of the tournament. Dragon Lady was right. I hadn't hooked up with anyone when she talked to me. Yet.

Tournament Week

 

In 2008 I came to Tucson to work on a Johnny Depp gangster film and ended up staying longer than I thought into 2009. I didn't have another shoot lined up in La La Land but I did have free use of a friend's house in a cozy old neighborhood not far from the university.

This was the golf tournament season in the Old Pueblo. The resorts on the outside of the city were hosting their winter galas that attracted celebrities and golf's best. I was taken aback when the forty-ish, well-dressed woman sat down with me, uninvited, in my favorite coffee shop. I was accustomed to sharing my table in crowded cafes in Europe, but I was all but the only person in the shop this morning.

"Forgive my boldness, dear," she said, "but I've been looking for you."

"Huh, me?," I said, "do I know you?"

"No, not yet," she replied, "but our golf tournament needs you."

She was a "dragon lady," a recruiter and manager for "hostesses" that were hired to mingle with guests at her resort during a tournament. No, she wasn't hiring escorts or prostitutes, she said with a 1000 watt smile, she needed young, attractive girls to chat up the guests, have drinks, dinner with them, and generally dress the resort up. It paid $350.00 flat, cash, no paperwork, from 5 pm to 11 pm for the next week or so. Of course, any tips or "special considerations" after 11 pm would be mine to keep. The dress code was sportswear (shorts) early and cocktail attire after 8 pm. The "hostesses" would have a room available for changing.

"Interested?" she purred.

How could I turn down two grand in a week for teasing wealthy golf nuts? The exhibitionist in me thrilled at the possibilities -- show off, tease, drink, and eat for tax-free cash? No, it wasn't the same kind of deal I had turned down in the Venice Bars bars in California when I was a budding teen. This was above board, totally legal entertainment work.

In a very western, poker game kind of way, I said, "I'm in. Tell me where."

Around the university were several "clothing exchanges" where rich college girls would sell the designer clothes the were tired of so they could buy newer designer clothes. I grabbed some hip label short shorts, polo shirts, and, even by my standards, two radically short party dresses all for just over $100.00.

I reported for work that afternoon and was told, "have fun, be charming, don't compete for any one person's attention, be sure to be in proper attire after 8 pm, and touch base with "dragon lady" at 11 pm in person or by text to guarantee your cash the next day. I was one of six women all my age, all attractive, four blondes, one brunette, and me, the only redhead. They knew what their guests liked, I guess.

None of the girls had ever done anything like this before. Dragon Lady, I learned later, specifically recruited first-timers for hostesses. Being novices, instead of instantly bonding, we went our separate ways immediately as if to say, let's keep this secret, private, and never speak of it again. That was fine with me.

I was accustomed to Hollywood parties where everyone was devilishly desperate to make an impression, snag a deal, or get laid on a quality casting couch. The golf crowd was laid back, warm, friendly, they fawned easily over celebrities and generally were happy just to be where they were. They had money in their pockets and spread it around, lavishly. They knew about "hostesses" like me. They were mostly respectful and generous if I could "bring them a bourbon & seven" or just have a taco with them at the food truck on the seventh hole.

I tolerated a certain amount of ass pats, hair touching, and backs of hands accidentally brushing my breasts, but it was nothing I wouldn't expect in a club in LA. I was eye-candy, mostly. It worked for me. The real working girls were pros, "personal assistants" or "girlfriends" who were easily spotted. Christ, most were gorgeous. I steered clear of them. Courtesy, you know?

The Platinum Tees -- professional female caddies  -- do not work the tournaments officially. Their advertisement touts:  "... for a mere $200+ per Platinum Tee, your beautifully athletic babe will take care of your ball, clean your clubs, drive your cart, fix divots, tend the pin, and most importantly, keep you happy as you sink a hole in one." Honest, that is their pitch in local Tucson promotions.

Without a doubt, I was not in a league with the professional girlfriends or the Tees, but I did very well as a "girl next door" hostesses. I played the naive innocently flirting with both men and women. In the evenings, the second-hand party dresses were far more effective than I had anticipated. I couldn't wear a bra with them, so my girls were pretty much on high-beam display moving from air-conditioned bars to poolside and back. Barelegged wearing a pair of thin-strappy flat sandals, the dresses fell north of mid-thigh, so I opted to add white cotton bikini panties, the kind with a lacy waist and a tiny pink bow. I reveled in flashing these more often than not.

That first day and night was a tumbleweed journey driven by a wind that took me from laughter on the links with men who seemed to be compelled to explain the nuances of golf to me to slurping cold shrimp and sipping champagne with a couple that had the kindest roaming hands I've ever experienced.

I checked in with Dragon Lady at 11 pm. "I'm hearing delicious things about you," she said, "Are you staying longer?"

You bet I was staying. I was just getting started. "Yes," I said, "thank you for including me."

She touched my face and drew close. "You're a natural, darling. Have fun."

I'll share more about my tournament week in future blog posts.

Have a good weekend everyone.

Pool Time

 

The mornings have been so hot lately, I invited Sally (Jeep Girl) over for a swim in our complex pool after today's arroyo walk. We stopped at my casita to make ice coffees and change into our swimsuits.

I started the coffee while Sally changed in my bedroom. When she joined me in the kitchen and I saw her swimsuit, I think I audibly gasped, my eyes popping. Sally was wearing a bikini that would make a Huntington Beach girl blush. She took over making the coffee while I took my turn changing.

OMG! I thought which swimsuit should I wear? Go tiny like Sally, or demure, with more coverage? Was Sally sending a message or was that her usual swimwear? Why am I panicking? I decided on a string bikini that was, more or less, in the same "exposure" range as Sally's.

At 6:00 am no one is in the pool yet, unless they have "rat patrol" duty -- checking for mice that may have drowned in the pool overnight. Today was my duty day, so we had the pool all to ourselves. The air temperature was already 85° and the pool water was the same. Slipping into the water was like slipping into a cool bath.

We both swam a couple of laps then sat together, side-by-side on a bench in the wall of the pool where we had left our plastic cups of ice coffee.

Sally looked at me curiously and said, "Sparks, I need to ask you a very personal question, okay?"

My alarms always go off when someone asks that. "Sure, ask away," I said confidently, but not feeling it.

"Are you gay?" she asked, innocently, with blinking inquisitive eyes.

I almost dropped my coffee. I think I know now how a deer in car headlights must feel. Vulnerable, a little afraid, confused, and, excited. Staring into the water, considering my unvarnished toes I said, "I'm bisexual, depends on the person."

I looked at her, hoping she wouldn't run. "Good," she said, "I was beginning to wonder if my intuition was off.  Did you know you flirt when I don't think you realize you're doing it?"

Busted. Totally. I know. So I offered, "It's hard to control if I'm attracted to someone. I'm sorry, Sally, you're married so I've tried to pull back. I don't want to screw up our new friendship."

Sally sighed deeply. "Maybe it's the months of staying-at-home, feeling trapped in my own house, wanting to get out, wanting to send my husband back to his office," she looked to the sky and prayed, "please, God, send him back," and laughed.

"Sparks, I'm not looking for love or romance or anything like that, I'm just not good at monogamy."

We managed to navigate the next hour of conversation with intimate moments punctuated with bits of wonderful laughter. Back in my casita, we shared my shower to rinse the pool water from our hair.