This story is dedicated to the ladies on Twitter and other social media that have the pluck and good will to show their hoochie coochieness to the rest of world, glorifying the human body and giving people pleasure. Particularly, @stunningmatures who unlike the elitist and cliquish rags on the net, have the courage and intelligence to recognize electrifying, well crafted writing when they see it, whether the content is mainstream or not. Figaro Lucowski
Cherry Soup was born in the thirties, her father was a milkman and her mother a housewife who worked odd jobs as a seamstress, both drab and colorless. She was an only child who even as baby looked girly, a soft and silky baby with ivory skin. There was little doubt that she would grow up to be a lusty dish.
In high-school she was an unremarkable student, a savory piece of eye candy for the boys, who she toyed with for passes to the cinema or to get free meals. Cherry was a tease, making out and heavy petting, never going -- all the way--. She had no intention to further her education, no map for the future, knowing very well that her sexy body and good looks were all she needed in life.
Cherry was a gift from God to the men of the world and she knew it as soon she reached adolescence. A modern Aphrodite with breast and curves like a bronzed Rodin sculpture with a perfect oval face and heart shaped lips, long thick red hair, polished skin,a fine oval wisp of scarlet public hair accentuating the pink lips of her vagina and a large purple anterior end leading to her vulva, billowing --begging to be stroked--.
Cherry lived in a gray flat on Flushing Avenue in Brooklyn in an orderly house with her sedate and character-less parents. She ran away from home at seventeen to escape the lethargy, with an itch and inner yearning for freedom, bright lights and kicks.
Her first job was in a diner as a waitress at Zippys Dinner, open all night. Without wherewithal or focus, she would drop plates, forget orders and miscalculate checks. It took her a week to get fired. Although a lousy waitress, she made good tips from guys that couldn't keep their eyes off her.
Cherry had no skills to speak of and was no Einstein, but she had a good heart. One night walking the streets of New York, looking for a job, she passed The Strands Art Theater, which had little to do with art and allot more to do with --tits and ass--. The Strand, as it was called, was a burlesque house that screened black and white X rated girly films of the day as well as serving drinks lubricating libidos as lusty ladies esoterically--took it off-- layer after layer of outrageous sequined dresses and mess stockings slowly removed and propelled off stage.
Gus, the doorman and barker who would coax guys to come inside and --take a peek-- motioned to Cherry with his hands and asked her to stop for a moment. Gus took a long look at Blossom asking her to turn around. Taking in with his eyes her sweet face and majestic body that never stopped turning you on. Gus had had a vision of dollar bills falling from the heavens. He asked Cherry to come inside. She had never seen a strip joint, the sleazy music, ta ta ta bang ta ta drum rolls, red velvet curtains and low tempo ambiance made her feel at home.
Gus took Cherry to meet Gracie, a former stripper who inherited The Strand from her X husband who died a few years back. Blossom entered Gracie's office, she was blown away by Gracie's look: Orange Cleopatra hairdo, Hawaiian mo mo, smoking rainbow colered Sherman's in a long cigarette holder, wearing fuck me pump heels with long toe and finger nails painted black, looking like leopard claws.
( The author can't help but realize how and why Lenny Bruce was attracted to the burlesque scene, a bastion for the hippest people on earth smelling of junk, pot and moldy curtains. The house band, passed over black jazz musicians from Harlem, who couldn't get a job with Ellington or the Cotton Club band, playing unenthusiastically for pennies, polka rythmns in jazz scales, and strippers with their off the charts sense of fashion, a potent witches brew of avant garde in the late fifties.)
Gracie, gesticulating, began to lecture Cherry, a tutorial on the art of striptease.
"The turn on for the guys is as much about the turn on you feel inside sweetie"
" Pick out a few guys in the audience that turn you on and make eye contact"
" Pulling down your top and showing your shoulders is a hint of what's to come, tease the crowd"
"You need to come up with a theme and gimmick to set you apart from the others"
" Striptease is an art, it is more than just lifting up your dress in the boy's locker room"
"Being a stripper is more about teasing than stripping darling"
And so on, inspiring Cherry to be the best stripper ever on Times Square. Leaving The Strand on her way home Cherry pasted a pet store and bought a docile white boa-constrictor to use in her act. She would call it, It, not knowing whether It was a male or female. Then going to a stripper supply store buying florescent skull and cross bones pasties to cover her nipples, assorted colors of g-stings, mesh hose, dresses with glowing stars and crescent moons stitched in made in parts with detachable pieces, a blond Cleopatra wig and some sexy see through asian fuck me pumps accenting her gorgeous, slight, perfectly shaped feet and sparkling painted toe nails.
She had no formal dance training and spent a few days watching the other strippers move, practicing back stage with It, her boa. She danced more like a belly dancer than a stripper, a pulsating pelvic grind…. She became fond of It, and the feel of It draping her body, embracing her and holding tight created a bond between them. The more she practiced with It, the more in sync they became. Giving It a swift tug when he moved below her waist, she taught him where to position himself on her body. She would be the first striper in history to use a boa in her act, pure phallic suggestion. She was a performer and artist, not just a gal showing tits and ass.
Gracie asked Cherry to go through her act backstage before she would let her go onstage and was impressed by the originality of Cherry's act, the seductive way she moved, realizing right a way that Cherry Soup would eventually be a big name in burlesque like Gypsy Rose Lee, Blaze Star or Fanny Foxx. Stripteasers that had the talent, class, looks and freshness could become names and famous even.
Gracie decided to play up Cherry's debut performance which would be on Halloween night, using superlatives to hype Cherry like; bewitching mermaid, pearl skin, body like a goddess, stunning and so on, generating allot of excitement on Times Square.
Sherry would go on after Busty Morgen, seventh in the line with X rated black and white films of the day and comedy in between.
She had a case of the nerves back stage sitting on a bench holding tightly onto her pal, It, the boa. The Strand comic Benny Spruce was zany and brilliant, a Jewish comic from Brooklyn, Benny's bit was topical, original, cutting edge and over the heads of the horny Joes in The Strand. Who came to the joint for a few drinks, taking in the exotic tropical ambience, cutting-edge feel, enjoying the feeling of blood rushing through their turgid groins.You could score pot or cocaine there as well. The Strand was an underground hip spot in the fifthties before hip became mainstream in the sixties. A place to forget about the rat face for a few hours and travel to Mars.
Benny Spruce was destined for bigger things than being a slap "schtick" comic in a strip joint. The gig was a place where he -- sharpened his chops--. Spruce's big break came when Herb Caen (columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle) and Hugh Hefner caught his show in the sixties at a comedy club off of Broadway Street in dowtown San Francisco. Hefner bank rolled Benny and Caen's press brought national attention to the Socratic gadfly who would go on to --bust the balls-- of the free speech police, morally affronting wonder bread middle Americans of the time.
Benny was a junk, who would spend time between acts locked in his dressing room, smoking pot and fixing speed balls. He opened the door and walked out to get a Coke seeing Cherry slumped over sitting down and looking scared.
He leaned over with his head close to Cherry, smelling her soapy clean pure white skin, turned on, saying…
"What's the matter doll?"
"Oh, I'm going on in a half hour and I'm scared to death"
" Scared of what baby? Come into my dressing room for a minute"
" OK"
Part Red Cross and part Satan Benny says….
" Kid what's your name, take this red and let's smoke some weed, it will calm you down"
Cherry was a virgin dope wise and even though she was a stripper she was still innocent and inexperienced. She followed Benny's lead and after a few minutes she said...
"Benny darling, WOW this…is… so… groovy…baby, where am I? The colors WOW…. look smashing, the jazz band…. is oooooh, hip... the beats of the band are flowing through me"
"Your ready baby go out on stage and break a leg, knock em dead girl, let's go out to an after hours joint in Harlem after the show doll"
"Wow baby cool" Cherry said breathlessly!!!
The moment that was rushed through her as if her destiny was staring her in the face. She strutted on stage with libido running full speed with It, her boa holding on tight, looking majestic, gyrating, pirouetting with a ballerinas grace embracing the sound of the schmaltzy jazz rhythms in drunk polka time. Electrified and erotically stimulated as she began to --take it off--. The guys in the audience began howling with desire, Bennie and Gracie were watching from back stage and had never seen a more turned and untamable crowd at The Stand. The crowd stared open mouthed in awe at the stunning women with the most amazing body they had ever seen. It, the boa performed flawlessly as well, Cherry's bit ended in an uproar with It wrapped around her waist, his small head reaching up towards her lips like he wanted to kiss her. Cherry more than lived up to the hype Gracie had spun like a glowing spider web.
After the show Benny and Cherry were in a celebratory mood and headed to Harlem to catch a show at the Cotton Club, both would become famous in their own ways. They would marry a few years later and would travel the burlesque circuit in the United States. Cherry keep striping all her life and eventually became a junk like Benny, it was her undoing. She is still alive today and has kicked junk becoming a writer who chronicles the life of Benny Spruce and the history of burlesque in America. Benny died in the seventies, broke and -- busted on empty--, fighting for freedom of speech all the way to the Supreme Court.
We are all born and destined to be good or great at something, whether it is being a stripteaser, ganster, chess player, pretzel salesman, cop, priest, ballerina or garbageman. To go through life and not make the most of ones talent is like missing the lottery, jumping off your banana boat on the way to the stars. Cherry soup found her destiny and made the most of it.
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