I remember Bethany

By the Piano Man

I don’t think we liked each other at first. Even though I thought Beth was pretty, I assumed she was a dumb Midwestern redneck and she thought I was some Uncle Tom because of my white dinner jacket and my smooth demeanor.

The first time I saw Beth she was working as a waitress in the Denver bar where I played piano on the weekend. She was from Iowa and you might describe her as ‘perky’ and hardworking and you’ve seen a thousand like her every four years when the media descend on Iowa for the Primaries. Her limbs were long and her waist was slim; small, high breasts, ample hips and a nice round butt completed the picture. Straight, black hair hung to the bottom of her shoulder blades. She showed her Welsh ancestry in her porcelain skin which freckled in the sun and her cornflower blue eyes. I used to think she looked like Jackie Kennedy (yeah, I’m that old) or maybe Audrey Hepburn but now I think she looked like Juliette Binoche (who was probably about 11 then).

Like any good waitress, she moved quickly and lightly on the balls of her feet and she also had a tendency to bounce in place up and down in place when she was excited. I often saw her move through a crowded bar carrying four plates of food or two trays of drinks without a mishap or even spilling a drop. There was an air of competence about her and she was often smiling and laughing even when everything was chaotic. When Beth laughed, her cheeks pushed up into her eyes and gave her an almost oriental look. And yet there was something about her in the quiet moments that suggested a great depth and high passion.

My day job was as a medical specialist at Fitzsimons Army Hospital. I had come back from my second tour in’ Nam’ as a Platoon Sergeant with the 101st Airborne and I had switched my MOS because I was tired of leading my men into firefights, death and maiming for no discernable purpose. Now I was helping to save what was left of their lives in rehab. I still had to coax and yell at them, but I felt much better about it. Besides that, I could go home every night and forget about my work.

I was about 6’-5” and when I was in the airborne, I made it a point of pride to be fitter and faster than anyone in the unit. I was balding and my mustache was starting to show some gray but I still ran every day and did pushups, chin-ups, squat thrusts and worked out at the Dojo.

Being home had its own set of problems, though, and my family was not used to having me home all the time. My wife and daughters had evolved their own system and she resented my attempts to alternately discipline or spoil the teen aged girls. The loss of jump and combat pay was also a problem so I took a second job as a piano man that also got me out of the house. The drinks were free, the tips were good and I enjoyed watching people. Besides that, I could play anything from R&B and boogie-woogie to classical and had a natural ear for picking up a tune.

I was a long way from East Saint Louis and the life of trouble that I was headed for as a teenager when I joined the Army. Back then, there weren’t a lot of careers for young black men and the judge told me that if I enlisted, the charges (and a couple of angry fathers of my girlfriends) could be avoided.

The Peacetime Army of the Fifties was good and I got to see a lot of Europe and Asia. I got off base as much as could and with my natural ear I easily learned languages and my way with the ivories, I could make myself popular almost anywhere. There were a lot of women who wanted La experience noir, and Die Schwartzer orgasms, and I sure experienced a lot of them, especially the Frenchwomen. Even with all of that, I ended up marrying one of my old girlfriends from East St Louis and settling down (partially).

Of course, Beth’s butt caught my eye and her natural friendliness helped to break the ice. I found out that she was a German/French Major fresh out of College and she was teaching High School during the week. One night, I surprised her by playing “Mon Dieu” by Edith Piaf and “Lillie Marlene”. When she found that I was fluent in both French and German, she started practicing her languages with me and I told her bawdy jokes in Low German and risqué stories in Parisian French.

It turned out that she was working as a waitress to pay for a trip to Hawaii to meet her fiancé on R&R just as she had worked all through college to pay for her education (you could do that back then).

After we became good friends, she began to talk about her relationship with her fiancé. I guess she thought of me as a father figure and a good friend who she could open up to and not have I put the make on her and I tried to be that person.

Beth was engaged to a lieutenant who had gone over to Nam that summer. He was a year older than her and even though this was the swinging sixties, she had been a virgin until they got engaged. Once they started and she was on the pill, they screwed like rabbits in order to capture as much of each other as possible in the face of his looming deployment. She confessed that she didn’t enjoy the sex as much as she thought she should and that he complained that she was repressed and inhibited. Beth also experienced few orgasms in their often hurried lovemaking and it left her vaguely wanting more.

Her fiancé had written that in his visits to the Saigon Cultural Exchange, he had found the Vietnamese women to have a much more open outlook about their sexuality and that he admired their attitude. Now I had been to the “Saigon Cultural Exchange” and it was a cluster of bars and bordellos, but I didn’t tell her that.

The glamorous vacation in Hawaii she was planning on would obviously involve sex and she was hoping to lose some of her repression before they met and her fiancé had suggested she try some porn. Beth had purchased some magazines and even gone to a porno movie in a desire to please him but she said that they just left her cold and she wondered if something was wrong with her.

I told her there was nothing wrong with her and that stuff left me a little cold too. I gave her my copies of “Delta of Venus” and “Little Birds” by Anais’ Nin. She had read Nin in college but didn’t know that she wrote erotica. I said “Yes, in addition to being his lover, she also paid for the publication of “Tropic of Cancer” by Henry Miller”. When she brought the books back, she blushed a little and said she liked them very much.

I mentioned that the story about the hypnotist was my favorite, because he was black and I could identify with him and I knew a redhead like the woman in the story back in Paris. Beth blushed even more but didn’t say anything more.

Later, Beth asked me how she could become sexier and I told her that it’s kind of like a mirror, if you think you are sexy, and then you are sexy. However from my experience if a woman wants to feel sexier she usually starts with her underwear. If you want, you could also wear a tighter skirt and you might try unbuttoning a button or two. She said that she would think about that, at least the underwear. I said I would think about it too and she blushed again.

Saturday, she smiled and said that she had purchased some French intimates and they did make her feel sexier. She also asked me if I had any more erotica. I told her yes, but she would have to take very good care of it, because it was very rare.

On Sunday, Beth showed up in a tight black skirt that hit her at mid thigh and when she bent over, it really accentuated her great ass and legs. When she brought me my drink, I noticed the top two buttons of her white blouse were open and when she leaned forward, I could see a lacy French cut bra and the curve of her breast and her nipple from the side. I looked up and smiled and said “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” To my delight, her cheeks flushed and she smiled again and told me that she did feel much sexier and her tips were even better now.