Notable women who I have fleetingly met and have not developed a friendship with, and who I have promised not to divulge their particulars, and who have left a great impression on this ape’s brain are included below. These women have often been used in fiction and non fiction, have sometimes been written about elsewhere and generally leave a warm place in that portion of my heart that wonders what life could be like if I had met such ladies when I was young. These women are mostly moving, talking pictures in the mind’s eye. They must have been encountered since 2018 and the advent of this hobo life.
#1. Queen of Tats, featured in the article by that title on jameslafond.com. Would like to see her mud wrestle #3.
#2. Rebecca, featured in an article by that title on deathofawriter at wordpress.
#4. The big Amerindian woman with the fat pale cowboy at Jodi’s Diner in Evenston, Wyoming. 5’ 10” 240 pounds of muscle and padded curves, with thighs as thick as most women’s waists, and a flat stomach, long thick black hair, and a surly, aggressive swagger as she was mad at her man. She wore dark blue jeans and a big brass rodeo belt buckle and a tight pullover top. Tim and I were walking towards her, and rather than open the door for her, I stood and examined her like she was being walked around on the slave girl auction block in Fez Morocco. She stopped, glared at me, her face softened, and I checked her body out again. She then shoved the door open and walked to their truck while I stood in the doorway and enjoyed the postern gate of their ragged relationship. She did look over her shoulder at me. That woman...what a breeder of champions she could have been.
#5. 5’ 6”, thick, curly red hair, slight waist, big hips and triple Ds, this pretty lady in her late 20s was on the train from Portland to Pittsburgh with me for 3 days. I really tried not to look when she walked by, but her hip would usually brush a shoulder or a seat arm. Coming into Pittsburgh, this being back in April 2019 I think, when I was still fat with a lingering torn hip rotator, I had to go down to the bathroom storage level to stretch, as the hip was killing me. We were still a couple hours out, the train behind schedule. The lady came running down stairs behind me and asked if I was well. She was obviously concerned that I was having a heart attack or something and had followed me down. I told her I was well enough and that my hip needed stretching. Half believing me, she hesitated before heading back up, then reminded me that the train was two hours behind schedule. We got off together at the train station and she smiled to me as a man my age, obviously her father, met her at the lobby door and I wished her a good day. Now that is a nice wife for some young fella.
#6. The middle-aged cougar working the afternoon desk at the Waterfront Hotel in Oakland California, a lady I would have liked to get to know better. She had straight black and gray hair halfway down her neck and wore a black sweater and a wry smile.
#7. The blond, thirty-five-year-old psychobitch from the bar in Lovell, Wyoming who told me I looked good for my age and then pulled up her sweater and bra to show me her very nice breasts, in front of the dart board, who could have been mine for the night. Since I declined, she devoted her time to making sure Yeti Waters did not get her Besty into the sack—what a nutjob. This story is on the deathofawriter site, which has something like 300 articles on it, mostly travel.
#8. The big blond woman of perhaps 40 years of age, who works at the Dollar General in Exeter Misosuri, who beamed when Paul’s woman informed her that I was not her man—free for the taking! And wondered if I “cheat at cards?” It’s a shame that was near the end of my stay—chick must have been six feet tall and had a good sense of humor, so probably would not beat me up.
#9. The Hooker in the California dive bar in the story, Tony from Texas.
#10. The Russian barmaid at the Chicago Hilton who tried to set me up with the hooker from Decatuer, described in Drunk in Chicongo.
#11. The pretty young lady at the convenience store in an unnamed American shithole city, who reminded me that I had forgotten to make my usual condom purchase with the coffee creamer, and when I retrieved said item, informed me that Wednesday night was her night off. I am still disappointed in myself for not taking advantage of that sweet young thing: 35, 5’ 5”, pretty pale face under reddish blond hair, with a very nice figure between athletic and I Dream of Genie. Her smile narrowed in such a way as to let me know that she could read the answer in my eyes, and that it contradicted my desire.
#12. The good looking, but not striking, 45-year-old Chinese barmaid at a California restaurant, who saw Vaxx Zombie DeGaulle and me as the only round-eyed devils in her husband’s establishment, and came rushing over to me as Vaxx poured our tea, put her hand on my forearm and said, “Beer for you, right—beer man!” Vaxx grinned, “Nothing like knowing your target market!”
#13. The tall, willow-waisted, thick-thighed blond college girl stocking the liquor cabinet in the Maple Valley Fred Myers, who upon seeing that we were the only unmaksed men in the sissy store, suggest that The Captain and I might want some company to share our rum with. Momentarily flattered, The Captain said, “My wife would KILL me! Let’s go, Nige.”
#14. At the same sissy supermarket where everybody except for the few best looking female co-ed clerks clung to masks, and I stood with The Captain in the Bob Seager Final Tour shirt Mary Biscotti had given me, the cute blond that could have been the little sister of the liquor cabinet babe, went on and on about how cool older guys were, that young guys are pathetic and she really wished she had a boyfriend who had seen Bob in the 1970s, which I had told her to derail her interest. The Captain was literally pushing me at her whispering for me to get her number.
On the way out he said, “Nige, why not get her number?”
“Because I’m leaving in a week and it wouldn’t be fair to her.”
He retorted, “Don’t leave, Nige. What kind a Nig are you! Put a baby in it and you can live in the barn—I’ve been thinking about fixing it up! Bro, we could play cribbage all year long!”
#15. Finally, I think the best looking young woman I ever met was a Wells Fargo clerk in Rich County, Utah, above Bear Lake. She was also as nice as an angel, which is never a combination back east, with all remarkably good looking women being evil witches. I even recalled her name, when remarking to Bob that it was so strange to run into kind beautiful women. When I told Bob back in the truck about her, he recalled the last name, “That family has been all over Rich County for a hundred years. I surely played one of her uncles in football. We hide the best lookin’ ones up in the high ranges, to keep ‘em away from you people!”
Well, those are some of the outgoing ladies that I have bumped into in passing these past four years. I’d thought I’d share these impressions for the good of my readers who are card carrying members of The He Man Woman Haters Club.
