I am sitting at the table across from John in his ninth-floor apartment. John is in his eighties and lives alone in an elderly housing complex. He is a WWII veteran and a bachelor who is walking anecdote. On the wall behind him, my eyes move from his face to a poster of Anne Margaret prominently displayed next to his bed. (While it is not Anne Margaret depicted in the image here, it is similar to the one on his wall.)
....For those of you not familiar with the Catalog Casanova, you may wish to read my post No.314, of 8/31, "High-Rise Hi-Jinx," for a funny experience I had with the man seated before me. Trust me, after reading it, you will never look at your parents, or grand-parents for that matter, in the same way again.
....A few weeks after that accidental voyeuristic episode, John agreed to grant me some time to record some of his memories. With one of those "ancient" tape recorders on the table between us, I decided to treat our session as an interview. When I told him that I wished to post our talk on my Website, he was only too happy to talk about his favorite topic: his amorous adventures. I had no trouble believing anything he would tell me. After reading the post cited above, you can surely understand why.
Pointmeister: John, I have to assume that you have always been quite the ladies' man.
Casanova: I've always got along with the girls, especially those French ones.
Pointmeister: Ah yes, you were an American G.I. in France in WWII. After liberating Paris, you and your buddies must have met quite a few girls wishing to show their appreciation?
Casanova: Well, for the record, I worked alone. My buddies were on their own. I didn't want any of them cramping my style. I left them to hit the bars. None of them knew it, but I lived in Paris before the war and I could speak the language. I had addresses and phone numbers. ...(He pointed to his head and smiled)...This was my little black book.
Pointmeister: So you went straight to your old haunts and hooked up with a cute French girl right away.
Casanova: Well, not exactly. It so happened that a truckload of USO women had been brought in to set up a club for us American soldiers. It wasn't open yet, but some of the girls were hanging out at a hotel having drinks in the bar. So I moseyed in and bellied up to the bar near a brunette and a redhead.
Pointmeister: With all your French connections, you're going to tell me that you picked up an American woman in WWII Paris?
Casanova: No. I didn't pick up an American woman. (He seemed indignant and was frowning at me.)
Pointmeister: Oh, sorry. Please continue.
Casanova: I picked up both of them! (Now he was grinning at me. He was loving this.) You see, I learned a long time ago to watch and listen. I had real good hearing back then, it ain't so good now though. Anyway, I was listening in on their conversation. They were talking about men. My ears picked right up, that got my undivided attention.
Pointmeister: Maybe I should take some notes on the side for myself from the master?
Casanova: (He seemed to not hear my remark.) They were talking about things they liked in a man. Now when they started talking about the size of penises that they preferred, my ears were tuned in dead on them. Mind you, I'm not looking at them either, so they don't know I'm listening. (He winked.)
Pointmeister: You sly devil, you!
Casanova: I knew it was my lucky day, Mike. You know why? (I shook my head. I knew he would tell me.) I heard them describe what kind of penises they each liked. The redhead said she liked Indians like the ones in Oklahoma where she came from. She said they had long slender ones. The brunette preferred Jewish men because hey had short thick ones.
Pointmeister: (I groaned, but said nothing as he continued.)
Casanova: So I called over the bartender and had a round of drinks sent over to them. When they turned to thank me, I walked over and joined them. (He chuckled.) I think this is probably the best line I ever used. I introduced myself, "Good afternoon ladies, I'm Tonto Goldberg."
Pointmeister: (I couldn't let that one fly.) Oh, come on, John. That's an old joke.
Casanova: Of course it is. Where do think it came from? The word got around to the other ground pounders. I was a legend to those guys. They used to pay me to let them tag along with me. Over the years, that line became a joke.
Pointmeister: (I jokingly pulled up my pants leg.) John, it's getting deep in here and I didn't bring a shovel with me. (I wasn't positive, but I think that I'd told him that joke a couple of months ago.)
Casanova: You don't believe me? That's the way it happened as I remember. Don't forget that was sixty-years ago.
Pointmeister: I believe you picked up the two of them, but that line....? (I was certain he threw the joke in to embellish his story.)
There was a knock at his door. I looked at my watch and realizing I had to get home for supper anyway, I turned off the tape recorder. I walked to the door to let in his visitor. I was prepared for almost anything. Almost.
....In the hallway stood one of the old ladies from the building. She was wearing a bulky bathrobe and was carrying a plate wrapped in foil. She walked right in, smiled and said hello, and then went to the table here John was seated. She put the plate on the table and then bent to kiss him on the cheek. I followed her to the table to retrieve my tape recorder and my cap and coat.
....She said to me, "I remember you." She turned to John and added, "He doesn't recognize me with my clothes on, does he?" She didn't wait for my answer, but proceeded to remove her robe.
....They say there is nothing new under the sun, but maybe they really meant that 'there is nothing nude under the sun!' Under that robe, this little old eighty-something was decked out in a French Maid outfit. This was not your costume-party variety costume either. It was sheer in certain places - it was a naughty negligee.
....I concentrated, I concentrated as hard as I could to come up with an image of a shapely, buxomly younger, much younger woman standing before me in that sexy, skimpy attire!
But try as I may, the picture at the right is the closest I could come to that of the image on the left. The elder woman's picture on the right looks like a cross between Gabby Hayes and John's visitor, I kid you not! If you have ever seen the Granny cartoons in Playboy, you can form your own image of the "vixen" before me. The precarious cling of garment on her shoulders gave way and fell until it stopped at her waist, thankfully! By that time I was ready to settle for a cartoon character like Betty Boop in a maid's outfit.
The expanse of flesh that were her pendulous breasts with the nipples below her navel, was too much for these eyes and my stomach to tolerate any further. Also, I didn't need to find out if he was wearing his elephant thong. I wished the two of a good night and let the door smack me in the ass on my way out. I made like Snagglepuss and 'Heavens to Murgatroid' made my exit stage left to the elevator.
My interview with the Catalog Casanova would have to resume some other time. I was certain I had enough to come up with a posting. Aren't you glad?