The Complete Vicki 1982 First Written in December 1982 Many Edits Last In Nov. 2020
Hey Mickey
(2021 NOTE: I have wanted to finish this since it began, the first Saturday in December 1982. In the last 38 years I have tried many times, but I think this is still the original text from 1982.)
Unlike Tami, I know that Vicki knows I love her and always will. In our last encounters I didn't give Tami enough reason to believe and remember, that it would ALWAYS be true, I will ALWAYS love my girl. I'm bothered constantly by the fact that Tami probably doesn't know.
The memory of Vicki written below may become graphic at times, if you're a literary controlling ahole, then go away cause you'll feign offence and claim I'm evil for writting it. Bye now...
There's some boring parts. I think they're necessary for an understanding of Vicki and I. Slug through them and try to understand. Hell, maybe it's all boring. Who am I kidding, nobody is ever going to read it.
Chapter 1) Frame Of Mind
Reveille came late on monday, after a weekend of graduation and boot camp liberty. Instead of 30 minutes waiting in formation on the grinder, our company had head of line privilege at the galley. Breakfast was over in no time and we were packing seabags in the barracks.
One last march and boot camp would be over. Next orders in hand, overloaded with gear we marched to the other side of the base, out of Recruit Training Command and into Naval Training Command. Marching a tour of all the schools, the company broke up as guys fell out in front of the school they'd been assigned. From 90 we were down to about 20, when 5 of us fell out of formation for Fireman Apprenticeship Training. That's Navy shorthand for 'teach idiots how not to get killed in a ship's engine room.'
Checking into the barracks I got great news, the next class didn't start for 14 days. I was free to do whatever I wanted until 7 am on monday, two weeks away. They didn't even hold quarters in the morning. I just had a wild weekend in downtown San Diego, but no clue what else there was. I pictured myself sitting around that barracks, bored lonely and depressed with nothing to do.
Surprisingly, boot camp allowed me to finally clear my mind of her, or at least make peace with the loss. I made resolutions in boot camp. I'm not going to be a slut anymore, I'll do whatever it takes to advance in the Navy and I'll stop turning down women because they seem romantically interested. Tami has been gone a year longer than she was in my life, in one way I wasted those years, but no more.
I had no opportunities. I enlisted because my only other option was an endless string of low pay crappy jobs. Also, I was in a four year emotional rut caused by the loss of my only love. A third issue in my life was endless emotional abuse from my mother, enlisting got me away from her as well.
I signed up with a guarantee of boiler technician school. I have no doubt the school is worthless, but as a civilian it will be what I need to put on my resume, for the career I've been fighting to get into.
Determined to have fun with two weeks free time, I put on the only street clothes I had, that I'd enlisted in, and headed for the bus stop. First up was non-navy food, something that didn't taste the same as pure water. In the sailor part of B Street downtown I had the biggest plate of greasy spoon bacon eggs & potatoes imaginable. Couldn't eat it all for less than $3.
Still too early for action on a weekday, B street quickly bored me. I found the tatoo parlor where my sister's high school boyfriend, current husband, got his picture taken. They still have the backdrop and still take portraits in front of a hokey looking jungle scene. I recognized it. Had to rush outside because I was laughing too hard at the sight of it.
The YMCA is a prominent part of sailor town on B street. It's the only thing not centered on beer and naked women or tattoos and cheap military souvenirs. There are always sailors on the sidewalk. I asked the clerk at the front desk and he explained. Six floors and only the first floor is open for entertainment. Above is small rooms to rent with communal bathrooms. One floor for couples, one for women and three for men. Look around the first floor to see what's offered.
I found my place. There's a popcorn cart with a sign, free popcorn. It's outside a door with a sign, keep door closed. I opened the door on a dark room and stepped in, following instructions from the sign I pulled the door closed. Didn't take much to realize this is a movie room. Got a bag of popcorn and sat in a big recliner. Hours later after several Mountain Dews and bags of popcorn, I'd seen 'Mad Max' and 'Merlin' and 'Mash' between smoking on the sidewalk out front. It was nice. Since the morning I enlisted there'd been no moment of true comfort until that recliner.
The movie room lasted over four hours. The fourth movie was horrible, a fortunate fact leading to Vicki. If the movie was good I would have stayed and not met her. It was six thirty in the evening and I'd spent half an hour in a topless bar drinking more Mountain Dew. The place was dirty smelly and nasty so I moved on to the next one. Avoiding the pervert pit I chose a booth, another fortunate choice that led me to Vicki. Many small things in life have important consequences.
Chapter 2) The Pick-Up, not a truck
It's too bad if you've never been and don't know the routine of topless bars. The women cruise the customers offering table dances. I paid and tipped the first one for my Mountain Dew, then turned down a table dance. More beautiful women unsuccessfully solicited table dances. All following the same boring carbon copy routine.
The last one was a bit confusing. She didn't solicit anything and stood close beside me, instead of in front to shake her boobs. Sitting on the edge of the seat in my booth, this gorgeous blond with the most wonderful smile pressed her chest against my arm and started grinding, while yelling personal questions in my ear. Music was way too loud. I yelled my name and asked hers. She yelled Mickey, while the song "Hey Mickey you're so fine" was screaming away. Disappointed that she wouldn't tell me her name, I stopped wondering if she was comming on to me. A fact that nearly prevented me ever knowing her.
That beautiful Mickey was the only girl to return to my table. I didn't know that she laid claim to me with the other girls. I nursed my expensive Mountain Dew for thirty minutes while she bounced around the room, spending much of her time chest grinding my right arm. I didn't give it a thought, convinced she was just a worker who refused me her name.
I'd been there a half hour at seven pm when she approached, walking normally without the absurd stripper shoes. Instead of a nipple covering teeny bikini top and postage stamp g-string, she wore a tiny pullover that was barely long enough to cover nipples, and white shorts smaller than a bikini bottom. Wearing them often I called those shorts her belt, they were little more.
Different yet still in costume she returned to boob grinding my arm and yelling in my ear. I was still confused about her when in the silence between songs she asked "Are you ready to go?" That's not a costume. It's her street clothes and she's off work. I felt the fool for not seeing it coming, but I'd promised myself no more one nighters. I'm weak and she's extraordinarily beautiful. My type all the way and I'd been locked up with men too long. OK, enough excuses.
Outside she asked "Where do you want to go?" While I heard where do you want to go, Vicki thought she was saying "Do you have a motel room?" I was hungry and suggested sharing a giant $3 plate of bacon, eggs and potatoes. She agreed, but later told what she was thinking, that I was the dumbest densest man ever. She'd invested too much in me and was too horney to give up, so agreed to food while hoping for a change in course after.
On the sidewalk in front of the greasy spoon, giant plate nearly finished, Vicki said "My truck is three blocks away." I walked along trying to guess what she had in mind. I'd just watched three movies and wasn't in a mood for another. We ate so eating was out. She worked in a bar, but maybe that was her plan.
Skip ahead to Chapter 4 if you don't want to know about fun. For anybody else who might read this, get self conscious and look around to be certain nobody's watching you read dirty stuff.
Chapter 3) Extreme, now it's a truck
Leading me to the drivers door she climbed in and crawled across the bench seat, almost naked with butt in my face. Assuming Vicki wanted me to drive, I got in and turned to close the door. Vicki is an expert at removing clothes, doing it for work. She was naked in the instant it took looking away to close the door, except for shorts passing knees on their way to the floor. My naivete was suddenly ended. I might regret it later, but it wasn't a decision I could make. Vicki made the decision by presenting herself.
The only small area left to imagination while she danced, no longer required imagination. Teeny shorts on the floor, Vicki turned to face me and leaned against the passenger door. Left foot on the seat and knee in the air, right leg spread wide, I no longer wondered what she had in mind. I'd seen plenty of shaved and even been the shaver, but never saw waxed before. With no stubble and no razor burn, a truly complete waxing... delighted the hell out of me.
First tounge contact had me believing she was possessed by multiple demons. Accompanied by inhuman sounds, Vicki instantly began orbiting her side of the truck cab. Arms wrapped around to keep hold of her, in about twelve seconds she had an extreme girlgasm like nothing I ever saw before. Still, I'm not sure which of us it excited more.
Back arched and butt a foot above the seat, Vicki had what I thought was a long aftergasm, five seconds completely motionless and not a sound. It ended with every muscle limp and falling to the seat totally spent. Another ten seconds passed while I smiled, proud of myself as if I'd done the extraordinary thing. Waiting for recovery I admired the perfection of flawless silky skin, not a blemish anywhere. Five seconds is a long aftergasm and this one was thirty seconds old when she muttered "I wasn't expecting THAT!" Words I'll never forget.
When Vicki recovered she snaped into action, getting dressed in an instant she said to me "Go around." I got out and rushed to the passenger seat. This woman had quickly gone from a very beautiful dime a dozen stripper, to the most exciting woman I could imagine. I didn't care what she had in mind, I wanted a part of it. This was Monday evening and I'd been in her bar on both Saturday and Sunday, the two days before. Looking at her I wondered how I'd overlooked such an incredible woman. I found out later that she was the only dancer in the world who didn't work weekends.
Without speaking Vicki drove like a crazed Indy racer, the 390 in her truck screamed all the way to her apartment. Dragging me from front door to bedroom, there were three young girls on the living room floor. Too old to be daughters, too young to be coworkers and unlikely to be friends, most of all they were too naked for my comfort at their age. They needed more than bra and panties. Vicki stopped just long enough to tell them we'd go get food later, then dragged me to her bedroom. She was naked again in the same time it took to lock the bedroom door.
I might be a little dense sometimes, but naked girl has always been a clear cue for me. Undressing I couldn't help notice Vicki's bed, not in that way, it was a beautiful piece of hand carved canopy artwork. Dresser and nightstands were obviously part of the hand made set along with a large freestanding mirror. This girl had taste and spent a fortune on her bedroom furniture. It belonged in and was clearly made for a girls bedroom in a multi million dollar mansion.
I knew an old gay couple who owned a bedding store in Phx. Talking to them at their shop made me a connoisseur of comforters. Vicki had the most decadent thing imaginable covering her bed. I joined her on it and felt as if it would swallow me, sinking into what must have been six inches of goose down, covered in silk.
Everything about the day, starting out in a boot camp bunk and ending in Vicki's bed, made for a surreal experience. I couldn't help smiling.
Giggling, Vicki repeated "I wasn't expecting that." She followed with a sudden burst of information, excitedly telling me her life's history.
I am going to bludgeon my way through Vicki's history because I want to write it and because you need to read it to begin understanding how she became an incredibly magnificently uniquely wonderful person.
She grew up in a small north eastern town where nothing memorable happened, she hardly recalled the town, friends or family. Near her 15th birthday she ran away from home, but couldn't remember a reason. She remembered walking out of the house and through town to a highway where she was picked up immediately.
Her next memory was of being drugged and raped in a dark spot just off Hollywood Blvd. She spent a hard year on the street in Hollywood before hearing that boot camp sailors were nice to girls on the street.
She went to San Diego where Saturday mornings there was an outpouring of boys who just graduated Navy boot camp. Her best times were with boots who rented a motel room and left her there alone, able to use the room until forced out long after check out time.
Vicki told me all about her year living in B street alleys, making short term friends with other girls. This is how she spent her sixteenth year. Several girls died from drugs given by the drug rapists, men who drugged runaway girls, by deceit or force, to make them compliant during rape.
She was arrested and convicted of shoplifting. The judge didn't believe she was eighteen and put her in a detention facility for girls, with a six month sentence. It sounded like primarily a drug rehab clinic. They got her cleaned up and six months was done so she was put in a group home for girls. The home did wonderful things for Vicki. She worked part time and was required to save most of her pay. They got her set with a savings account and ID similar to a drivers license. They also put her through a high school diploma program, so she was set to go to college.
Vicki used an assumed last name from the moment she left home, but mostly used her real birthday. Her 18th came and she was out of the juvenile system. The social worker got her into the hands of a private charity where she shared a two bedroom apartment with three other women. In the two months she was there she had many roommates.
Runaway girls admire topless dancers because they have money, food, clothes, car and home. Vicki tried to get a job dancing many times, but nobody believed a dirty raty-haired runaway girl was eighteen.
Now eighteen with proper ID and extremely beautiful, Vicki was hired instantly. It's the job she was still doing when we met, six years later.
I would love to write the interesting details Vicki shared our first night, and one day I will, when I find the creativity to do them justice. It could be a hundred pages. For now, this is where they belong. Immediately below is, as promised, a bludgeoning of it.
Vicki described the end of her horrible childhood and learning to set up and live her adult life, with more money than she knew how to spend. She got a four year college degree just months before we met.
She described her entire sex history as bluntly as discussing grocery shopping.
(4-7-2021 Note: I NEVER got any further with "The Compete Vicki". I miss her too much to write about her.)
