Monday, July 2, 2007

Charlene Tilton

Charlene Tilton

Once upon a time there was a starlet named Charlene Tilton who was the hot young babe on a TV show called “Dallas”. She lived and worked in LA and used a phone answering service run by a gay couple. Charlene and the guys were friends with another customer, a casting director named Barbara who I was dating in the early 80’s.

Barbara had a designer house in Palm Springs where we hung out a few times. She told me that Charlene was coming down one weekend and not to be surprised if she was there when I got there. I arrived and there was an expensive Mercedes 2 seater in the driveway. I entered the house but there was no one around.

I walked out to the backyard pool and sunning herself on a recliner was the beautifully, bronzed Charlene: stark ass naked. She was lying on a robe but didn’t attempt to cover one square inch of that mountain of well arranged flesh. She didn’t seem the least bit concerned and I didn’t know whether to spit or go blind!

She got up and shook my hand and I don’t remember if I looked into her baby blues or stared at her bronzed bumpers. She sat down and small talk commenced about earth shattering matters like the weather and the drive to Palm Springs but what was never talked about was all that naked FLESH!

I felt uneasy and, to ease and balance the situation—when in Rome, you know—I took off my clothes too. So now we were both naked but she still had the advantage; like 20 years less mileage and my stocky body was never mistaken for Superman’s although I am Jewish and Superman’s creator was Jewish; so I figure Superman is Jewish just like Jesus, the real Superman--minus the beard, of course.

If Charlene had seen any of those WW II movies where they make the Jews drop their pants to show they were circumcised, she would have know right away that I was Jewish. I am sure she was a virgin and never noticed such things being that she was an innocent, naked princess who had once posed for Playboy.

Barbara and the gay guys show up. Charlene immediately pulled on the bathrobe and covered her nakedness. Meanwhile, I’m standing there thinking, how weird is this? I’m a guy standing naked before 2 gay guys and both women are covered from head to toe. What’s wrong with this picture? I guess it depends on your point of view.

While holding up my end of a pointless conversation, I got dressed and this soft porn adventure seemed over. But comes bedtime, I am told not to sleep in the master bedroom with Barbara but in one of the 2 side by side bedrooms down the hall. I am confused. Why have I been sent down the hall to sleep in the room adjacent to Charlene’s? Strangely enough, she and I had been on a flight to LA that was rerouted to Seattle or Portland and I had definitely put her on my YES list when we deplaned and I saw her bend over at a water fountain. Men are such dogs.

The next day I find some of her writings on the dining room table. It’s all about God. And I’m a sufi reverend who digs God. This weekend is starting to look like a set up. I’m the sacrificial single guy! Being a star in Hollywood must attract more flies than being one in Peoria; so you got to have phone friends who’ll fix you up with a nice guy who isn’t looking to brag about second hand fame.

First, you should tell the nice guy that’s what his function is at this gathering so he wouldn’t feel confused about cheating on his current girlfriend in front of her, in her own house. Secondly, I don’t like set ups. I like to think I’m the chooser even when I’m not. Thirdly, I am a coward who saw the opportunity and ran from it. Low self esteem pretty much explains my adult life; however, I am in recovery.

Came the end of the weekend, Barbara and her friends departed early with Charlene and I left to watch a movie--silently. We were sitting no more than 5 feet from each other but neither spoke nor made the 1st move. And then I left and it was over and I never saw her again.

I later read she married a stocky guy and realized I might have been attractive to her; but, when you‘re coming from a childhood laced with physical and verbal abuse, it’s hard to believe you’ve got a snow flakes chance in a desert called Palm Springs.

1 comment:

Tying My Shoes... said...

Why SIMON, O Lord, why not ME?