Weather Girl

Back in the 70s, there was this young woman, Carolyn Oglesby, on our local TV news. This was the era of the "weather girl," when TV news weather people were not meteorologists or even very knowledgeable about weather at all, but rather good-looking gals you just wanted to ogle. Viewers wondered if her last name was really Oglesby, or perhaps a subliminal name the station had assigned her.

Well, all three local stations had cute weather girls at the time, but Carolyn was definitely the best looking. In her early 20s and a natural blonde, she was petite with a perfect figure, easily visible in the tight sweaters and miniskirts or "hot pants" she wore. She moved her lips like Marilyn Monroe, and was the sexiest girl in local TV-land.

If you were male and did not have the hots for her, you were either gay, blind, or near death. So, all the men watched that station's newscast. And many women liked to watch her, too, as she always had on the latest fashions, furnished by a local department store in exchange for mention of its name just before her weather report. This station's having Carolyn "ogle me" was certainly working to garner viewers.

One summer day my buddy and I happened to be riding our 10-speed bikes by the station when we saw a flash of blond hair across the parking lot. It was Carolyn getting in her VW convertible. It was she all right, and she was wearing hot pants so tight they could have been painted on, tall white boots, a shiny silk blouse, and lots of make-up—-she'd probably just got through doing the noon weather report. We'd never seen her in person, and damn, was she a looker! We paused to gawk, then she pulled out into the street and away she sped, blonde hair flying in the breeze.

We followed her, pumping our pedals with everything we had. Though she got way ahead of us, it was easy to keep her readily identifiable Beetle in sight, and she got caught by a few lights, so we were able to keep up. She was heading toward our neck of the woods; maybe she was planning to come over, strip naked, and fuck and suck us, we dreamed.

She eventually turned off into this very exclusive neighborhood, adjacent to our not-at-all-exclusive neighborhood, and we tailed her as she wound around through the curvy, shaded streets. She pulled up into the circle drive of this swanky home, and wiggled her cute butt right through the front door without knocking.

Did she live here? How could she afford such a place on a weather girl's salary? Maybe she was married to some rich dude, but you could see on TV that she wore no wedding ring. Perhaps she had a sugar daddy boyfriend who lived there. Whatever.

We circled the block on our bikes to figure our next move. We knew the area well, since we lived nearby, so we stashed our bikes in some thick shrubs and raced back on foot. The large back yard of the house was surrounded by a tall brick wall, so my buddy hoisted me up for a look over it, and I could see a beautiful pool surrounded by potted bonsai trees and an exquisitely landscaped yard, which sloped up to a heavily foliated area at the back.

Cars would come around the blind curve from where we were, so we could not remain there for long without looking suspicious. We walked around the perimeter to the heavily foliated area at the back, which bordered on a fairly well traveled street.

The bamboo and ivy and leaves were so thick along that back border that it was easy for us to get out of sight of the cars going by, and there being no sidewalk on that side of the street, no pedestrians would be walking by to spot us. We shinnied up a tree, crawled out on a limb, and had a perfect perch to see the entire back yard over the brick wall, yet were relatively well hidden if we remained still and quiet.

But there was no one back there, and, thankfully, no dogs either to give us away. We waited and waited and waited, hoping Carolyn would come out into the back yard. We would hear the clatter of the V-Dub if she left out the front, so we knew she was still inside.

Time went by, and we had to get down and pee several times. But still we waited. It was summer, and we had nothing better to do. Kung Fu being our favorite TV show, we passed the time by imitating its cast of characters. "Master, I wait for fair weather girl, but she does not come." "Ah, grasshopper, little one with big boner, all things come to he who is patient." And so on. Forever entertaining one another, we were never bored.

Carolyn had a dark tan, and we had this hopeful theory that this might be the place she laid out. The sun gradually arched westward until the pool area was fully in the bright summer light.

Well, low and behold. Our waiting had not been in vain! Here came Carolyn in a barely-there white bikini, the bottoms slung low on her hips in the style then popular, with a tight strapless bandeau type top squishing her medium-size boobs. Hallelujah!!!

Wearing wrap-around sunglasses, she wiggled over to our side of the pool, arranged a chaise lounge, and sat down. She was dangerously close, only about 40 feet away! We froze, almost afraid to breathe.

Out from a tote bag she pulled a radio, a beach towel, and suntan oil. She switched on the radio and turned the knob. When she came to the top-40 station owned by the same outfit as her TV station, she frowned and stuck her tongue out, then tuned in to a competitor's album rock station and cranked up the volume. Though we got a charge out of that, we stifled our laughter.

I felt a little more comfortable with the noise of the radio now on, but my buddy observantly pointed out that his bright red and my bright yellow shirts might give us away, so we slowly pulled them off over our heads and let them drop to the ground on the street side of the wall, our dark summer tans providing much better camouflage.

Then she stood up, shook the towel, and laid it on the lounge chair. Her sexy flesh just rippled as she did so. What a fantastic body! And she'd taken off all that TV make-up, too, and actually looked better without it. She was, indeed, the best looking girl on local TV, maybe the whole city.

Before she lay down, though, she paused and looked in our direction. She had on those wrap-around sunglasses, so we could not see her eyes to figure out exactly where she was looking, but she appeared to be LOOKING RIGHT AT US. What else was there to look at in that direction? Immobile and silent as statues, we shat bricks for what seemed an eternity. Finally, a mocking bird on the opposite side of the pool distracted her with loud cawing and swooping as a white cat emerged from shrubs and hunkered down to avoid being pecked. Whew, saved by the cat.

"Kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty. Here, kitty, kitty, kitty," Carolyn called the cat, which perked its head up just in time for the mocking bird to peck it square between the ears. She jumped up with her towel and ran toward the cat. Jiggley, jiggley, jiggle went Carolyn's buns. Bouncy, bouncy, bounce went her boobs. Her bottoms had fallen down to show the top of her crack, and the bandeau top had slipped down enough to reveal just the tops of her areolas. Gravity is a good thing. Perhaps it was it was peaches like hers—and not apples—that had given Isaac Newton his ingenious ideas.

She shooed away the bird with her towel, bent down to pet the cat, then picked him up and carried him back to the lounge. "Poor little kitty cat. That mean ol' bird pecked you right on your head," she consoled.

Well, I'll be. Now in close range, I could see that it was MY CAT! We were less than a mile from home, so I guess this was part of his range. Yes, it was no less than my cat, Astro, a big fluffy white half-Persian male and the friendliest cat of all time--friendly to people, that is—as he had most likely just gobbled down the furious mocking bird's chicks for lunch.

"You're a pretty girl, so soft and sweet," Carolyn said, stroking his arching back. She, like lots of people, associate cats with the female gender. Of course, Astro didn't care about the misidentified gender ID, so long as she continued to give him attention.

She lay back in the lounge petting Astro in her lap, and he began to prod his paws back and forth on her boobs, gradually pushing the bandeau down until both nipples appeared, then more and more of her breasts until they popped out fully exposed in the bright sunlight, the elastic of the top contracting tightly below them around her rib cage. All the while, Astro looked right at us. He knew we were there, and if a cat can smile, he sure was.

And we surely enjoyed the view of her pretty and pert C cups. Yet, there was a painful irony in this scene. Here we were up a tree watching—like a cat—and down there playing with a great-looking girl's tits was a cat—like a person. I never really wanted to be anything but human, but that day I would have readily traded places with Astro.

And so Astro poked and prodded Carolyn's wonderful boobs for quite a while, and she seemed to be enjoying it at least as much as he. She finally tumped him out of her lap and started slathering suntan oil liberally all over her perfect body, which gave us instant boners, while Astro butted his head against her feet. When she came to her boobs, she at first pulled the bandeau up over them again, then carefully looked in all directions (like someone could be watching or something!), removed it over the top of her head, and shot it like a big rubber band across the yard.

Astro made a beeline for it, pounced on it like prey, picked it up in his mouth, and brought it back to her. Folks have a hard time believing that a cat can retrieve like a dog, but I had taught him to do just that a couple years before when I was sick in bed for a week with the flu, using the crinkly wrappers from Hall's Mentholyptus lozenges, and he had generalized from those to anything that wasn't too big or heavy.

Carolyn laughed out loud, rubbed the oil sensuously on her boobs, and shot the top back across the yard again and again, Astro retrieving every time and dropping it by the lounge chair. I cannot tell you how sexy her oily tits were as they jiggled each time she launched the springy bandeau. Astro would do this all day, but she finally tired of the game and lay back to catch the warm rays and work on her tan. But for her pointy pink nipples, Carolyn's tits were lily white, so I don't think she lay out topless regularly, but we had my trusty cat to thank for that treat.

After rolling around on the grass for a few minutes at her side but seeing no more play from her, Astro looked back over at us, trotted over to the wall, and jumped up right to the top, immediately in front of us. "Where you goin', kitty cat? Please don't go," Carolyn pleaded, standing up and walking toward him, which is to say, us.

Wow! This was the best view yet of nearly naked weathergirl: Beautiful face—as pretty as any professional model—with bright white teeth in a permanent smile. Real blonde hair—no dark roots—straight and parted in the middle, draping a few inches below her shoulders. Perfect 34C boobs, slightly upturned to pink points, and glistening with oil. Very thin waist, with a deep navel, swooping out to slender though curvaceous hips barely holding up the tied-on-the-sides hip-hugger bikini bottoms. Smooth, stalky, evenly tanned legs terminating in small feet and sexy little toes painted bright red.

Unfortunately, this best-yet view would have to end all too soon, since she'd have to be blind to not spot us as she approached ever closer, so we dropped simultaneously from the limb to the ground on the other side of the wall. Since the ground was deep in leaves, our landing fortunately did not make much noise. We had learned many years before that a good way to provide an instantaneous excuse for being somewhere you shouldn't was to start calling for your cat, and we had the benefit this time of the cat's actually being there, so we both started loudly calling, "Here kittykittykittykittykitty. Here Astro. There you are! What are you doing up on that wall? We've been looking everywhere for you!"

As usual, it worked. Astro jumped down, and I picked him up and petted him.

Out of sight on the other side of the tall brick wall, Carolyn said, "Oh, is that your cat? Who's there?"

I told her my and my buddy's name, and that we'd been looking all over for Astro.

"She is an amazing cat—likes to retrieve just like a dog. I was getting kinda attached to her, but I'm so glad you found her. She's so sweet and affectionate, too."

Sweet and affectionate, indeed! That was the highlight of the entire summer, and we never failed to miss her weather report, always imagining her doing it all oiled up and topless just as we had seen her that afternoon.

We went back to the wall regularly on sunny days when we'd see the Beetle parked in the drive, occasionally finding Carolyn tanning, but never again topless.

I only wish I could have trained Astro to find other naked babes and take us to them.