Yo-Mama

Long ago, 1955, when I was in fifth-grade, all the little boys in my class lusted after classmate Yo-Mama.
That was because she was extremely well-endowed with a gigantic rack.
That is, all the little boys but me.
Gigantic rack or not, she had a large moon-shaped face, always scowling, was built like a center for the New-England patriots, and seemed a mite portly.
I was more attracted to Surly Shirley, who lived in a large nearby apartment-complex, and sunned herself strapless outside on a blanket.
She wasn’t as well-endowed as Yo-Mama, but she was a tart.
She was the sexpot daughter of an Air Force daddy, and they lived in the apartment-complex because he might get relocated.
I’m a graduate of the Hilda Q. Walton School of sexual relations.
Hilda was the Sunday-School superintendent of my parents’ church. She also lived next-door.
She convinced me as a pants-wearer no female would have anything to do with me.
My parents concurred by also convincing me I was “Of-the-Devil.”
Yet there was Surly Shirley, but she lived on the wrong-side-of-town, in an apartment-complex, for cryin’ out loud.
I also got the attention of a cute Jewish girl named Yada-yada, who despite going steady with a dude named Mike, chased me on her bicycle.
I biked away scared, no idea what I’d say. It’s the Walton legacy.
Shirley even sent me a cryptic note inviting me to a dance. I still have it; it’s in my safe-deposit box. (A dance, with my father?)
Yada was cute, but she was also from the wrong side of town, north of Marlton Pike. She was also Jewish (gasp), the wrong religion.
The girls Mrs. Walton would have me interested in were all older than me, somewhat boring as church-members, and hardly sexy.
There was only one non church-member from the right side of town, ????????????, same age as me, and two doors distant.
But she had become a trollop. She bleached her hair blonde, and would parade through our neighborhood in her skimpy yellow bikini headed for “Bare-Ass-Beach.” (“BAB.”)
I’d heard all about “Bare-Ass-Beach,” but wasn’t sure it existed until I walked to it one afternoon through the woods.
Sure enough, there they were with buxom Yo-Mama sunning themselves bare-naked on a small beach next to a muddy creek.
The beach was a tiny sandbar; no poison-ivy. How ??????? avoided poison-ivy walking through woods in her skimpy bikini I’ll never know.
A few hard-rocks with greasy DA haircuts were also sunning themselves bare-naked.
Plus a tall gangly girl named Barbara — I can’t remember her last name. She looked embarrassed to be buck-naked.
Such were the social-pressures of south Jersey.
I don’t recall any intercourse.
That Walton legacy is still with me, as it has been over sixty years.
I still feel intimidated by girls. And that’s despite all the girls that chased me when I drove bus.
So now I wonder if ??????? and Surly Shirley and Yada and Yo-Mama are still alive.
Yo-Mama is probably overweight, and Surly Shirley is probably upset she’s a fading sexpot.
?????? still lives in my old neighborhood. She’s alone, and has divorced a few times.
Too bad I didn’t visit her when I visited Hilda back in ’92.

• “Q” stood for Quincy, her maiden-name.
• “Marlton Pike” was the main east-west drag through our little town. Anything north of Marlton Pike was “the wrong side of town” to faire Hilda. We lived south of Marlton Pike. — “Surly Shirley’s” apartment-complex was far east of where I lived, thereby making it “the wrong side of town.”
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs. My stroke October 26th, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability. I recovered fairly well.