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JULIE THE BEAUTY
By Crackpot
 Julie was a great looking girl, a real “throw yourself down on the floor and giggle like the 16 year old boy that I am” type. More important than aesthetics there was an “umph” quality, the indefinable id of sexual attraction. It’s something deep under the skin that you can feel when she is within a two block radius, call it aura, fog or polarization but I knew when she was coming.
We had met in a beer bar in the Haight, a friend and I often went because they had a beer called Old Peculiar. I don’t know if we like the taste or the name better. The joint was dark and a soothing pulsing pre-trance ambience smoked throughout the room. Julie had flashed her bra at me which I took as a pretty good sign. Six or seven Old Peculiar’s later she gave me a kiss and her phone number and floated out.
I called her and asked her out for a Wednesday night, she paused and I could hear her tap her fingernail against the phone. “I got this thing I have to do then… wait you know what, why don’t you come along with me , meet me down by….” I’ve forgotten where exactly it was. But I met her there right on time flower in hand; she thanked me and gave me a short hug. I was confused when she grabbed me by the hand and led me into a church, and whispered “The Scientogists have been trying to shut us down, think we’re stealing their idea or some shit”.
I sat down in what I thought was a pretty big church and a leader or some sort said something about God or some shit, I am really not sure. I was stunned by her presence and the amount of sheep staring at the pulpit. Eyes wide open, mouths starving for inspiration, this wasn’t your usual gathering of San Francsico-ites. I really wasn’t paying attention to much but Julie’s leg creeping out from under her skirt. I caught a word here and there but my mind was elsewhere.
“God... something... something... love,” Mmm leg.
“God.... someting.... something.... spaceship”
Mmm thigh.
At this point the guy behind the pulpit, I never really did learn his correct title, says “Would those who are new please stand?” I figured if I looked around a lot I would vanish and the visiting crippled pagan would not be exposed. A gentle, perfectly moisturized touch on my hand switchbladed me around. Julie nodded at me to stand, kissed me on the lips and hiding my cowardice of the unfamiliar, I stood.
All us new meat were led into a small conference room, a dozen or so of us. Everyone looked really unhappy, psychologically unfit, emotionally overweight. Anxious. A moderator asked each of us why we were here. I told them I was in the middle of a date, and they asked me what was wrong. If I was there, there had to be a reason. Things had been going exceptionally well back then. 22 years old, almost out of college, some work experience that would lead to what I thought would be an exceptional career, a couple of extra bucks in the bank. The vision of Julie’s legs dancing in through the lobes. Things seemed really magically good; internal Indian summer warmth. I listened to each person’s stories of divorce, addiction, and sheer unhappiness. They kept coming back to me “Why are you here? Why are you here?”
“Get off my ASS! I am in the middle of a really bizarro world first date! OKAY?”
I couldn’t wait to get back to Julie but I looked at her differently now, because now I knew there was a deep unhappiness somewhere under that taut body. I wanted to know why she came there. What could she, this sculpture of perfection, possibly be unhappy about?
When I got back, I told her it wasn’t my thing. I was definitely shaken by all the negativity in the room.
I kept seeing her for a few months and occasionally went back to church because the sex was FAN-TAS-TIC!
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