St. Louis had a hot singles scene at the time, especially down by the river at LaClede's Landing. The Central West End, where I lived, was lively but all the mating action was given over to gay men, whom we were starting to see in the hospital with strange opportunistic infections, months before AIDS even had a name. I didn't venture to LL, as I never developed the right schtick for that environment. Too shy? Probably more than that. But I did remember something from my Chicago days that would help me a great deal as I searched for mates in Mound City: the Tip-Top clubs. Membership was restricted to men over 6'4" and women over 5'10". Regular "meetings" afforded a chance for tall horny people to meet up. I don't know if such clubs still exist. My stroll through Google found mention mainly of a club with that name at Disneyland, with a "golden days of Hollywood" theme, as well as a strip joint in Eureka CA. I got several dates out of the Chicago club and my success would not wilt in St. Louis.
From the St. Louis club came Beth and Marcia, both tall (of course) brunettes with tight butts, pretty faces, and ravenous appetites for tall young doctors. Both were no-nonsense business types, with a different outlook than the companions I plucked from Barnes. And both first dates got down to business quick-like. I remember more about Marcia. We went to an outdoor restaurant in the CWE. Conversation was easy and it was clear this was going somewhere. Marcia punctuated that direction as she stuck her hand down my pants right after we finished dinner to grab my throbbing member. Fortunately, my apartment was only a few blocks away so it wasn't long before we got to act on our impulses. She quickly reminded me why I prefer tall girls as I found that the torso/legs ratio of her 6'1" body put her mouth right by mine as we assumed the missionary position. That deep wet kiss at the height of passion shoots those rockets enough to go to the moon. But, oh, the rest of her sidled up just fine. Her bush was all curly, just like the hair on her head, so I knew they were genuine. Those trim muscular legs and arms wrapped nicely about whatever position was offered. Eating, going home, and fucking became our favorite activity, often dispensing with the eating.
Our dates followed a pattern. She'd drive up to my place on a Friday or Saturday night and wait in the lobby as my doorman (yes, my building had one) called up to say "There's a pretty lady to see you here, Dr. Ike". I'd tale the elevator to go fetch her, and we'd try to exert enough self-discipline so our clothes wouldn't start falling off till we entered my apartment. There was a big couch in the living room if we were really out of control, but we'd usually make it to my waterbed. I never watched the clock, but we spent plenty of time there. Sex with Marcia was one of those things so good you'd surely want to do it more than once. I never went to her place, and I don't recall how we extricated ourselves from my apartment. Did she stay over? Did we have breakfast (in or out)? We stayed together right through my last days in St. Louis. We never talked about the future. She knew I had a post in Ann Arbor for which I'd be leaving at the end of June. We'd keep in touch. We even met up on South Padre Island that next May. The sex was still excellent, but I'd gotten used to conversation with a woman bearing an IQ some 30 points higher than mine, to whom I returned.
Beth didn't make the cut, poor dear. I never wanted her more than after a party with some of her office people where everyone seemed to want a piece of her. I surely did, too, and could hardly wait for the party to end so I could get her back home. With longer legs and a shorter torso than Marcia, that peak-passion kiss wasn't forthcoming without a lot of contortions, which of course took away the appeal a little. She had a child-like sense of play, and the bed was her sandbox!. Hardly a position we did not try out. But, it was like Iggy sang in the 70s: "Now I wanna be your dog". That was a great fit for us. Those long thighs brought her business end right up into the attack position while that round butt of hers proved the perfect place for my hands, just a little pressure here and there to get the most out of her gyrations. It may have been total coincidence, but she lived in a neighborhood to the southwest of Forest Park whose name derived from its proximity to the big Humane Society facility: "Dog Town".
