Private Benjamin

The front of the bikini was comparably immodest. The bikini was held together in the usual flimsy manner: thin straps tied together in a bow. He was always so tempted to pull the loose end when he was within arm's reach of one of them. And, this girl must be fully shaved as it appeared that only her mound was covered. The fabric was pulled so tightly across her feminine pouch that she was providing the clear, explicit definition of camel toe. Bing's dick strained in his slacks as he ogled her from around the corner.

"Oh! Hello! I'm sorry," Judy said, noticing Mr. Russell watching her. Actually, she had noticed him much sooner than that but knew that it was best to pique his interest. "Was the music too loud?" She stopped dancing, turned off the CD, and only then adjusted the top of her bikini to get one of her mischievous, pesky boobies back under the strap.

"Oh, yes, hello, no," he stammered, feeling a bit flustered in getting caught staring at his neighbor, or more accurately her exposed breast. "No, I mean, the music wasn't too loud." He regained his composure and asked, "What are you doing?" "Exercising, silly," she responded, gaily smiling as she placed her hands on cocked hips, her camel toe begging to be noticed, to be kissed and licked. "What does it look like?"

Well, he supposed it could be called exercising, but it was certainly a rather unique approach. He asked, "Why all the paint?"

"Oh, I don't know, my Uncle Martin always had me do that whenever he visited. He would have all the girls get all painted up and then have a dance contest. I still do it myself, at times, when I'm feeling lonely."

"Lonely?"

"Yea, well," she said, stepping up to and leaning over the ledge that separated the two balconies, her boobies swinging a bit in the straps, flirting with the possibility of once again slipping out. "You know, I just moved here and everything," she said, looking deeply into his eyes, "I don't know anybody at all." She sounded plaintive, pleading.

"Oh, well, that is indeed too bad. Um, well, would you, well, perhaps like to come by and visit? I don't have any plans this evening, at least for awhile. We could have perhaps a glass of wine?"

"Cool!" She gleefully exclaimed, standing back up a straight, a titty again slipping out, the nipple pointing right at his ogling eyes. She didn't even seem to notice. "That would be so groovy!"

Groovy? Is that what she said? She even seemed to speak like Goldie Hawn did, some 40 years ago.

"Well, excellent then," he muttered, tearing his eyes away, not wanting to be so openly rude as to stare at her bare tit. Looking off to the side he said, "Why don't you come on over. Let me pick the place up a bit. I'll open some wine. Do you like red?"

"Oh, hey, I'll bring the wine. I like wine."

"Well, um, sure then, excellent. See you in five, six?"

"Cool! But make it a bit longer. I've got to get the paint off and everything, and, oh my goodness," she exclaimed, acting as if she had just now noticed her indelicate exposure. "I better put on more modest clothing, don't you think?"

He really didn't think that, but it would be rather presumptive to suggest otherwise. "Yea, sure," he replied, and quickly retreated back into his apartment, immediately doing a mad dash throughout to pick up all the loose clothes, half-eaten foods, half-filled glasses, and hide anything that was potentially embarrassing (e.g., his latest issue of Shadowplay). The place was indeed a mess. He was scurrying left and right, realizing that there was no way he would be able to clean the place up in time. The dirty dishes in the sink was a particular problem. He started to hurriedly wash them. He was making good progress but when he realized he would never get all of them done in time he just scooped up the remaining dishes, silverware, and glasses and dropped them into the wastebasket (he could retrieve them later).

Judy similarly made a dash for her shower to wash off the drawings and writing, her heart racing as fast as her hands. She was so terribly excited. She had encountered the enemy and it appears that her initial engagement had been successful. She so wished though that Colonel Thornbush was here, not only to advice her on what to do next but to also admire how much progress she was making so quickly.

Judy was also glad to see that Mr. Russell was a reasonably good looking man. She had, of course, seen pictures of him, but persons in real life do not always look as good as they appear in photographs, and vice versa. He was much older than her, being middle-aged and everything, but he was not an old man and he had his appeal. She carefully chose her next semblance. She had to choose carefully. The target had been baited, but he had not yet been hooked.

Bing re-arranged the stacks of magazines and books on the coffee table, shifting Entertainment Tonight to the bottom and moving The Ecologist to the top. He never actually read The Ecologist. It had just been a birthday present. Amazing how friends buy you subscriptions to magazines they liked rather than ones you would like, although of course if you really liked it, then you probably would already have it. In any case, he felt The Ecologist would be more impressive to a girl than Entertainment Tonight. He fluffed the pillows on the easy chair and couch, cursing himself for not having vacuumed for the last few weeks, and then made a dash for his bathroom and bedroom to put on a clean shirt, along with another layer of deodorant.

He panicked when he saw the nude pictures of Goldie Hawn in his bedroom.

Bing's apartment was a little weird. It contained many pictures and posters of Goldie. There wasn't so many in his living room that one might consider him to be some sort of a freak. It wasn't entirely overdone. There was a picture of her in a short, silver halter top skirt from 'Shampoo,' another in her tight, paisley, hip hugging bell bottoms and halter top from 'Cactus Flower,' and from 'There's a Girl in My Soup,' the tight red, spaghetti strap red evening dress, split up to her thigh, and cut so low that her breasts appeared to be spilling out, which was pretty impressive given how small they were. And, most impressively, all three pictures were personally autographed! There were quite a few more, but none of the rest were autographed. Well, maybe the picture and memorabilia collection was a bit excessive. He wondered if he should take some of them down before the girl arrived.

But the collection definitely went over the top in his bedroom. There was another picture from 'There's a Girl in My Soup;' actually, a poster. In this poster Goldie was in the process of putting on a robe, but at the moment she was entirely naked, and one could see her quite entirely naked bottom. Another poster was a shower scene from 'Best Friends,' which even showed her nipple. And, then, perhaps best of all, there was a poster of her from "Wildcats' in a bathtub, entirely naked, no soap, her little titties all exposed. The shot even went down to her pussy, or at least pretty darned close. She was clearly shaved, but a thigh was covering the best spot. Regrettably, none of these were autographed.

He doubted these additional posters would impress this girl, whoever she was. But, it was unlikely that she would ever get to the bedroom, wasn't it? And, if she did he could deal with it then, telling her that he first wanted to pick up that room as well, get all the old clothes off the floor and things. But, first he should take down some of the pictures and put away some of the memorabilia in the living room. What if she found all of that stuff to be strange? He decided to tone it down a bit and dashed back to the living room, grabbing a framed poster from the wall and stuffing it behind a couch, but he then heard a knock on the door. It was her. It was too late to get rid of all of them.

When he opened the door he was a bit surprised. Her outfit was so quirky. She was wearing paisley hip hugging bell bottoms, with a decorated silk blouse, all covered with very brightly colorful butterflies. It was like she had stepped out of 'Cactus Flower,' although once again the outfit was a bit over the top for the movie. The loss of the bikini was more than compensated by the absence of a brassiere beneath the blouse, along with the fact that he could pretty well see through this blouse. In fact, it was really very difficult not to stare. How do you pretend that you are not noticing naked tits? Aren't you supposed to notice them? Isn't that why women wear see-through blouses? Would they expect you to assume that they wouldn't notice your cock sticking out of your pants? Why the double-standard? Of course, her boobies weren't sticking out of her blouse, but there is really no meaningful difference between a see-through blouse and no blouse at all. It was like you're supposed to pretend she was wearing a blouse, while all the time there was no effective blouse whatsoever as those naked white titties were wiggling before your eyes.

"Um, hello," he said, a little stunned, and stiffening.

Judy smiled, both with friendliness and with pride. She could see that she had chosen her combat dress well, although it did feel a bit awkward to have a strange man ogling her breasts so openly. She reminded herself that she was on a mission, and it was her duty as a Thornbird, and central to her mission, to let this man admire her titties. She thrust them out. "I'm sorry it took so long."

Was it so long? It had seemed so quick to him.

"I took a brief shower. I had to get the body paint off. See?" She turned left and right, as if to show him the absence of the lettering and drawings but more importantly giving him different perspectives on her wiggling breasts beneath her blouse.

Bing looked through the sheer material, staring at those perky lily white boobies, her nipples so stiff and pointy. His cock twitched and swelled in his boxers. He then looked away, feeling rather self-conscious about staring at them so openly.

Judy grinned at his discomfort, as well as at his obvious pleasure at the sight of her breasts. She gaily asked, "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Uh, yea, sure, sure," he replied, working hard to keep his eyes focused on her eyes. "C'mon in."

"Cool," she replied, and bounded in, holding two bottles of wine in her hands.

Bing had not at first noticed the wine. "Oh yes," he replied and hurried over to his liquor cabinet. Bing Russell did enjoy fine wine. He would have been quite happy to treat this girl, this once in a lifetime girl, to one of his best vintages. However, he was also receptive to imbibing in something new. He pulled out two of his finer wine glasses. "What did you bring?" He was quite curious as he turned toward her breasts, or actually to her two bottles of wine, which she was holding in front of each breast.

"Boone's Farm," she replied. "I just love Boone's Farm, don't you?"

He replied uncertainly, and without much conviction, "Yea, sure, of course."

"You know they make all sorts of flavors: Apple, Lemonade, Blueberry, Orange, Raspberry, Strawberry, that can come, of course, as a Strawberry Daiquiri, Strawberry Hill, or a Strawberry Margarita, and then, of course, there's" she bit her lower lip and looked up to the right as she appeared to count them off from memory, "Blue Hawaiian, Country Kwencher, Mango Grove, Pina Colada, that's a funny one for a wine, don't you think, and then there's Mountain Berry, Fuzzy Navel, Melon Ball, Sangria, of course."

"Yea, sure, of course," he dully replied.

"And, let's see, I know there's a few more." She thought for awhile, letting the two bottles drift down a bit to reveal her nipples, which had been pushing against the refrigerated wine, and were now sticking out really quite boldly through the blouse in their very erected state.

With the girl apparently being lost in thought, Bing took advantage to feast his eyes on her titties, and the very pointedly erect nips.

"Oh gosh darn it!" She exclaimed, pretending to be terribly frustrated with her lack of memory. She stamped her foot, causing her boobies to again wiggle. "I know there's a few more." She paused a moment, looked down, and then back up again at Bing, smiled gaily, and jumped up and down in glee as she said, "Snow Creek Berry! Snow Creek Berry!"

Her tittles were bobbling like crazy. You really just can't ignore them. They weren't big, but even little ones can wiggle and jiggle pretty darned good.

Judy stopped jumping and again thought deeply, her brow furrowed. She looked up hopefully at Bing. "You must know the rest." He wasn't too sure why he necessarily should know them. Heck, he thought that there was just one flavor, strawberry, although as he thought about it he recalled one that was mentioned in Juno. He didn't watch just Goldie Hawn movies. He was a pretty well-rounded guy. He said, "Sun Peak Peach?"

"Oh my goodness!" She exclaimed. "That's so impressive! You must be terribly, terribly smart."

Well, he wasn't so sure about that. It was frankly just a lucky fluke, but he didn't point that out. "Not really," he modestly replied.

"What's your favorite flavor?"

Oops. He seriously doubted that he would like any of them. He preferred a fine Cabernet Sauvignon. Boone's Farm Mountain Berry would not likely measure up. But, he would frankly drink some Thunderbird or Mad Dog 20/20 with a young Goldie Hawn look-alike, wearing no bra in a see-through blouse. He glanced at those titties, and read the label of one of her bottles in the process. "Blueberry. Blueberry's my favorite."

"Oh my gosh, that's amazing, mine too! And I even have one right here! That's so cool. Here, let me pour you some."

"Sure," he replied, holding out one of the glasses.

"Oh my goodness," she said. "These are pretty fancy glasses. I just use an old fruit jar. Kind of seems appropriate, you know, for blueberries."

'And for really cheap wine,' Bing thought. He was again taking the opportunity of her distraction in pouring the wine to study a perky white boob. It was so impressively round, like a scoop of ice cream, with a little licorice candy sticking out at the top. He really liked licorice.

"And," she added, "just in case you didn't like blueberry I also brought over a raspberry. You really can't go wrong with blueberries and raspberries."

"No, no, I suppose not," he replied, not conveying much actual sincerity, not really looking forward to a second bottle of Boone's Farm.

"My parents always said I'm was an anarchist."

"Anarchist?"

"No, that's not it. Achromaticist? Alchemistic? No, no, anachronistic. That's it! I'm anachronistic."

"An anachronism?"

"Exactly! It's like being in the right place at the wrong time. Or is it wrong place at the right time? I can never get that straight."

Bing was beginning to appreciate that she had a resemblance to Goldie that was more than just physical, at least how she acted in most of her roles. "You know," he said, "we actually haven't introduced ourselves. I'm Bing Russell."

"Oh yes! I'm such a goof-ball." She put her blueberry Boone's Farm down on the coffee table and held out her hand. "Laurie, Laurie Steinhoff, so very pleased to meet you Mr. Bing Russell," giggling at her exaggerated formality.

Bing shook her hand, noticing how soft and small it was. "Um, yea, well, here, why don't you sit down there, on the couch."

"Oh my goodness," Judy exclaimed, as if she noticed all the posters for the first time. "You have pictures of me all over the place! This is so weird! Where did you get pictures of me?" It was quite an odd question, as if she wasn't appreciating that a stranger really shouldn't have pictures of you all over his apartment.

"No, no," Bing replied. "These are actually pictures of a very famous movie star, Goldie Hawn."

"No way!"

"Seriously. Frankly, you're the spitting image of her."

"No fucking way!"

Well, he never heard Goldie speak like that. Had he?

"That's so cool," she added. She put down the blueberry Boone's Farm on the coffee table, ignoring the presence of a coaster, took her wine glass from him, and poured herself a glass of the raspberry. "I'll drink the raspberry, so you can have all of the blueberry."

It was nice, perhaps, to hear that she was intending on drinking a full bottle, but that certainly wasn't his intention. "Here," he said, gesturing to the couch for her to sit down.

As she did so her titties wiggled so delightfully, her smile so seemingly innocent of her provocative appearance. "Oh my," she said, glancing all around the apartment. "You are a big fan of hers, aren't you. Look at all the pictures of me all over the place. Well, not really me, but I guess they do look a lot like me, don't they."

They did indeed, he thought.

"And, hey, like that's so cool! Look at that one. She even has on my bell bottoms!"

If he had known that she would be wearing bell bottoms he would have taken that one down first. But, still, it wasn't like she was troubled about it. And, it was rather eery to see that the girl was indeed wearing bell bottoms very close to those in fact worn by Goldie.

She turned to him as she sipped her wine. "This is like kismet, or something, isn't it."

He didn't know what it was. It was certainly very, very weird, but equally, if not more so, very, very cool, as this girl, and Goldie, might say. He preferred to concentrate on the cool. You don't look a gift Goldie in the mouth. "Well, maybe it is. I'm really quite astounded by the resemblance."

Bing took a sip of his wine, and then grimaced. It was so darned sweet! It was like some cross between soda pop and cheap wine. How very weird, but still not so weird as having Goldie Hawn, from 40 years ago, sitting now on his couch, smiling with that big toothy grin and large round eyes. This girl really was an anachronism. His dick swelled with interest, and he cursed himself for failing to switch to briefs before she arrived.

He turned away to regain his composure. He fumbled around in the cabinet by the couch, looking for a particular scrapbook.

Judy was pretending to sip her wine, wondering where she could pour some of it out. There was no way that a soldier should get drunk on duty, although perhaps a little bit of wine wouldn't hurt, and it might help give her more courage under fire. It was said that General Grant did quite a bit of drinking while leading the Union army, and he did pretty good. She took a few sips.

Bing's hands trembled as he realized how significant this moment really was. After all these years, all those years of devoting himself to the actress, the actress he had only seen in person a few times, she was now in fact sitting right there in his living room, sitting there with those little boobies of hers so openly displayed. It was all that he had dreamed of, or could have hoped for. Actually, much more than he could have ever hoped for, as she looked as she was some 40 years ago, just as he always continued to see her, never changing, never aging, always staying so pretty, so lovely, so delightfully sexy. He found the scrapbook that he had been looking for.

"Here it is," he said, pulling it out from the cabinet, "here it is." He sat down next to her on the couch.

She snuggled up against him, pressing one of her titties into his arm.

He took a deep breath of her perfume, and contemplated the feel of the soft little boob with its stiff, pointy nipple against his arm. He laid the scrapbook on his lap, hiding his increasing arousal. "These are pictures of her from when she was on Laugh-In."

Judy leaned in closer, pressing her breast in tighter. "Oh my gosh, she was really very pretty, wasn't she." "Oh yes, absolutely." He turned to look at her, at her face, her large round eyes. He said softly, "As pretty as you."

Judy turned her face to look into his eyes, which were now just inches from his. "Oh, you're so silly, Bing. She's much prettier than me."