American Thighs by Jill Conner Browne Page A

part of my person—from my face on down—to the other person involved who might have occasion to open his eyes during the performance and, as a result, SEE any part of my person.
    I wrote the little Queen back and told her that I was tickled for her that she’d found herself that little sex lamp and I hoped she’d be putting it to good and regular use. For me and mine, though, we will be using that often tried and always true device that we have come to love and revere. That would be, of course, the sex DARK.
    Undress for Success
    If you are currently Larva, you are, as I have stated many times before, a Precious, Darlin’ GIRL and you need to get as nearlynaked as the law allows and run up and down the road—because, dear ones, I keep telling you, a CHANGE is gonna come.
    Not only do you need to be well lit for lovemaking, you need to be outfitting yourself in a manner befitting your young and precious darlin’ness. The time for high-necked, long-sleeved, calf-length muumuus is coming soon enough. That time is coming for you EVEN IF you never gain a single ounce—your skin will simply beg to be camouflaged if not completely covered. Hardly anybody wants to see an old lady’s thighs and/or bosoms.
    I say hardly anybody because there are, of course, exceptions. Old MEN will want to see all your old lady parts, but ONLY IF there are no young parts in the vicinity for them to observe. So, if you are going to your thirtieth class reunion and you still look hot—by all means, go for it—within reason. I would say go right up to the very edge of the line—one side of which will make you enviable, the other side of which will make you pitiful. Given the choice, we will almost always pick envy over pity, yes?
    One more caveat about even such a gathering guaranteed to garner a group of mostly geezers, like yourself: be certain that none of the guys from your class have recently cashed in their early-model wives on some newer sportfuck editions. I don’t care how much of your precious darlin’ness you have managed to retain, the comparison will not be favorable. Muchbetter to let him look ridiculous for showing up with Teen Angel than for you to look ridiculous for trying to look like her little sister.
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    A Brief Aside Regarding the Unfortunate Emulation of Youthful Fashions by Those No Longer Qualified
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    Those of us of a Certain Age will recall when Yardley cosmetics ruled the world and fashion model Jean Shrimpton was our Supreme Goddess. Twiggy was in that hierarchy somewhere—what a combo—and photographs from that era attest to the pandemic proportions of the worldwide outbreak of ugly.
    Jean Shrimpton was, of course, stunningly gorgeous and she had impossibly stupendous hair as well—while Twiggy was just bizarre. She weighed about sixty-three pounds and most of that was eye makeup. Not a tit to her name, all knees and elbows, and she actually DREW on eyelashes with some early incarnation of the Sharpie—she had a total clown face.
    One look they shared—and passed on to us, thanks to the cosmetic wizards at Yardley of London—was WHITE lipstick. Any and all colors of lipstick were frosted, at the very least, but the MOST popular shade was a pearlized white that looked good on NOBODY and yet—we ALL wore it. We were united in our desire and attempts to resemble corpses.
    Okay, now, if you go back and look at photos from that time, of yourself, of anybody you knew—hell, go back and look atJean Shrimpton—EVERYBODY looked like crap in that lipstick. And remember, if you can, those few moms of friends—they might have been a few years younger than your own mom, but they were moms nonetheless—and they wore the white lipstick, too—do you remember how much WORSE they looked than we did in it—if such a thing is even possible? How can you look worse than dead?
    Well, fast-forward to today, if you will, and consider the