“The screen door slams, Mary’s dress waves.  Like a vision she dances across the porch while  the radio plays.  Roy Orbison singing  for the lonely.  Hey that’s me and I want you only.  Don’t turn away again I just can’t face myself alone”.   So opens one of the great songs from Bruce Springsteen, ‘Thunder Road’.  The story of a restless youth struggling to find his way in the world and his belief in women, music and a highway to anywhere as being the ultimate redemption.

The Turtles were restless youths once too.  No more though.  Their worlds are now the stuff of unbalanced cheque books, leaking roofs and dwindling form.  As in ‘Racing in the Street’ their Mary’s now ‘sits on the porch of her Daddy’s house, and all her pretty dreams are torn, she stares out alone into the night, with the eyes of one who hates for just being born’.  Their love of soccer has dwindled with their form.  There remains but one fascination left, one rekindling if you will, …Girl-on-Girl action.

Which is how your correspondent finds himself in that mecca for pleasure-seeking tourists, Queenstown, accompanied by his partner in crime, Pippi Pornstar.  The Turtles were in bad need of rejuvenation and, like many middle aged, thickening, balding men found that could be best found in tales (or, preferably, videos) of passionate lesbian sex – the lipstick kind of course.  My partner knew all the best spots from deep personal experience, and so it was that we set off to find some new adventures for the Lads to enjoy on their next team trip – rumoured to be in Palmerston North to help CJ celebrate his 60^th.

I’d have thought that it would have been easy to find this kind of action but I think my wardrobe was getting in the way.  I was wearing my best ‘leisure suit Larry’ attire but this proved to be a hindrance as the girl on girl action we were looking for was far more discrete.  I instead slipped into my regulation Turtles polo shirt and Pippi led me to the promised land.  We headed into the backstreets of Queenstown to Milo’s Bar and Girl.  A scene of former triumphs for my partner.

She had found herself there in a previous time having had a bit of a to-do with her male love interest.  Like many of us she found solace in the bottle and was soon looking fondly into the eyes of a blonde, and rather horsy, waitress by the name of Amber.  It turned out that she too was particularly fond of following the Turtles from afar in the comfort of the virtual lounge.  They found that they had a common fascination not so much in the goal keeping prowess of Snout, but more so with his tempting PA … the voluptuous and passionate Mandy.   One drink led to another and their casual and ever-looser talk of this common interest started to make them both itch for the kind of attention that only a Mandy would know how to give them.  Closing time came and Pippi was swept away for the ride of her life.  She was a little shocked to find that Amber’s bartender boyfriend had tagged along with video in (one) hand and that the next morning she awoke with the both of them in the darkness at the edge of town.  The video became a problem because what went on tour stayed on the net (www.pippiandamber.com/ridemecowgirl).

So tonight your correspondent was confident that he too would be recording the kind of action that the Turtles were so desiring of.  The joint was packed and there were Air NZ hostesses running amock on the dance floor.  Pippi recognised two of them that had comforted her in a most pleasing way when she had had an anxiety attack flying in that morning and she led me over.  I could sense a slight quickening of her pulse as we brushed up against them on the packed dance floor.  We were soon dancing in the dark and Pippi’s gun was definitely for hire.  She placed her hand delicately on the small of one of their backs.  The hostess pressed herself back and slowly turned.  She caught my eye, and then things took an unexpected turn.

“Hey, aren’t you a Turtle?” she asked. 

I wasn’t ready for this one.  I had been expecting some smouldering girly love talk with Pippi that would lead to some on-dance-floor antics but instead I was dragged back to my drab middle-agedness.

“Um, well … yeah … kind of” I blurted out.  Surely I could do better than that.  I took a mental note to reread some of my James Bond books.  It turned out that Jasmine was an old fling of a friend of the Turtles and he had regailed her with tall tales of youthful prowess, opposition defences torn apart and hockette hearts broken.  She was particularly fond of Bobby – ‘always liked a man who liked Dodger less than me’ she said.  She had recognised me (amazingly) from my photo on the web site.   “How did the lads do against the old foe today?” she asked.

So this was not going well.  I had been expecting a conversation centred on her first lesbian experience and all she wanted to talk about was Turtle football.  I decided that I needed to play along for a while and then work her back to what the lads wanted to hear and see – a bit of the old GoG.

“Well, it was a pretty big game alright.  We were playing off for the wooden spoon against Miramar -  and you’re right; they are the old foe.  We needed either a win or a draw to save us from ending up bottom of the league.  As both teams said before kick off …. ‘how the mighty have fallen’.

“Did they start with their usual pass-it-round-the-edges strategy?” she knowledgeably asked.  “Yep – they did, but they were a little bit fooled because we had brought in Dave Eastgate as a stand-in for the day.  He’s built like a brick shit house and they were more than a little wary of him”.

“He used to play indoor soccer up at Varsity didn’t he?  Used to smash the ball in from half way”  Jasmine’s knowledge of  low grade Wellington soccer was astounding.  “And does he still look like a Greek God?  He must have made quite a sight inside the Turtles dressing room – what a contrast!”.

I definitely didn’t like the way this conversation was going so I told her how the first goal came.  “We had been defending pretty well and they kicked it deep to our right back.  Grant (one of GT’s many mates) decided that giving it a solid clearing was just a tad predictable and instead chose to push it softly across the top of the 18 yard box.  They latched onto it, pushed it over to the right and then it was centred back again in the air.  It went to the far post.  Always bad news for Snout.  He threw himself into reverse, and back pedalled along the goal line.  He then had a bit of a jump but got clobbered by Becks and spilt the ball into the goal.  We all appealed for ‘foul on keeper’ but their ref was having none of it.  One-nil.”

At the fines session later we reckoned that PK should have been made TIT for that, even though he didn’t play.  “He never would have made the feeble cross that Grant did”.  He had made up for it though by bringing along a couple of dozen Carlsberg for after the game.  Shame that Spratty drank half of them while watching from the sideline.  Not exactly the kind of support we were after.

“Surely Dave Eastgate struck back before too long though” she ventured.  God she knew her stuff.  This woman was exciting.

“Well, nearly.  We worked it right and then Phil slipped a through ball in for him to run on to.  He let fly with a right but his aim was off and it flew wide and right”.  “Bugger” she said.  “I guess that was about it for the half, huh?”.  She looked a little anxious.   “What was the half time drink?”

And this is where it got embarrassing.  I thought of lying and saying that it was ‘tropical punch’ or ‘plain-old SNO’ but she had seen my flinch when she has asked so I knew she’d see straight through me.  I summoned up all my courage and admitted …. “Diet SNO”.

She burst out laughing.  “COME ON!  Does Grunter think that’s going to make the slightest bit of difference now???  Isn’t it a bit late in the season to be helping out the Lads with their waistlines???”

After some more reflection though she became mightily impressed.  “It’s damn hard to come up with a new juice flavour after more than 2 decades, and an inspirational one at that”.  So she decided to mark the occasion by ordering a slippery nipple for all 4 of us from the bar maid who was – you guessed it – Pippi’s old fling Amber.  Well things really started looking up then.  Amber could tell that there was electricity flowing between Pippi and the hostesses.  She screamed at Pippi that she doesn’t phone, she doesn’t write but that she had the nerve to turn up with these 2 trolley dollies and an aging Turtle.  My wildest dreams then came true – a genuine, old fashioned, cat fight!  A bit like the one with the gypsy’s in ‘From Russia with Love’.  Hair was being pulled, blouses being torn and Pippi and the hostesses were getting on top.  The manager came over and hurled a quart of jelly amongst them as a treat for the rest of the punters..… and then I saw it. 

Amber had a wee Turtle tattoed in the small of her back, and on her arm were the words ‘Property of Tel’.  I thought this was going to take a bit of explaining to dear Meropi  but I was seized with the desire to come to the aid of  this secret fan and I stepped in to break it up.  Passions had come to the surface though and Pippi put it all to rest by staring deeply into Amber’s eyes and then planting a full juicy one longingly on the lips of her favourite cowgirl.  The crowd fell to a hush as we watched these two reunite.  Milo then shouted drinks all round and we all towelled down. 

Amber draped her arm over me and whispered into my ear.  “Talk to me dirty … tell me how the second half went against those Miramar bastards.  Were there any fights?”

“Well, there were a couple of times that the ref had to step in.  The first was when Old Dumbledore was managing to keep getting the better of Frank by giving him a bit of the old nudge.  Frank erupted with the standard ‘keep that up Mate and I’ll bloody let you have it’.  Unfortunately Dumbledore didn’t seem too concerned and even Frank had to admit later that it was just the frustration talking.”

“The second one could have been far more interesting.  Dave Eastgate had got the better of Colin, Miramar’s loud-mouthed and damn-quick 53-year-old pom.  He made the mistake of tripping up Dave as he pulled away.  Dave turned on him with a forceful ‘if you want to make a fight of it that’s just fine by me Pal’.  Unfortunately old Col thought the better of it and we lost the chance of witnessing some great sport.  Murray dealt out some rough justice later though by hacking Colin down from behind when he was heading for goal.  The ref was so impressed that he said if Muz was to ever do that again he would make sure that it would be his last ever game in Wellington soccer – definitely a tackle that Don Guthrie would have approved of”.

The night’s boozing was taking effect.  I looked deeply into Amber’s eyes and hit her with that famous Springsteen line … “show a little faith, there’s magic in the night, you ain’t a beauty but hey you’re alright”.  But she had eyes for only one Turtle and she was not to be distracted by my overtures.

“And did the old foe look like scoring again?” asked she who was the Property of Tel.  “Less likely than the Lads on a team trip” came my confident reply.  “We basically shut them out after that.  Sure they made the odd chance but the only really good one required a deft header, and it ended up going out for a throw”.  She smiled knowingly.  “A bit like old Toby, eh”.

“The Turtles must have started to get a bit confident then that they could at least snatch a draw and save the season” chipped in Pippi. 

“Yep, we were.  Chances were starting to come.  Chris worked a move with Frank just outside the box and set him up for a clean shot.  It took a bobble though and the keeper was untroubled.  Still there was plenty of time left and we were pushing forward well.  With about 2 minutes remaining the ball went out for a throw on the right.  Dave fired it in like a javelin.  It skidded off the back of my head and went to the near post.  Zil pounced and threw his head at the ball as it came bouncing off the deck.  It flashed wide of the post and a great chance went begging”

 "Jesus H Christ” exclaimed the Pipster.  “Didn’t he miss a pen the week before too???  What’s up with the former wunderkind???”  I patted her sympathetically on the arm and told her that it was a moment that summed up the whole season.  Close, but no cigar.  Destined to be a downer.  As Bruce said  “sometimes its just like you’re riding on a down bound train”.

And so that was it.  The game ended with just the solitary goal, the Turtles suffered the shame of losing to the Old Foe and ending up bottom of the ladder.  I am the first captain to lead the Turts into relegation.  I’ve been despatched down here to make amends by getting some girl-on-girl stories together for the team trip.”

Pippi, Amber, Jasmine and the other hostess looked pretty blue.  They had not been braced for news of the Turts heading down into the slippery depths of Masters 2.  But then a wonderful thing happened.  Amber gave a wink and with a mischievous smile said “well girls, I guess it’s up to us ….”

Like a river that’s been overflowing, I took a wrong turn and I just kept going …

30 minutes later I was sitting in the corner watching.  They knew I was still there, quietly looking on.  They didn’t seem to mind.  Jasmine, a young and pert brunette, and Amber, a supple blonde.  Thank you God!. I couldn’t believe my luck.  Great material for the team trip. They were kissing, not a guy-girl kiss all hurried and awkward, but a slow lingering sensual kiss. One to stir the loins of any faltering Turtle.

Amber was slowly unbuttoning Jasmine’s blouse – her pert breasts, not needing to be restrained by a bra, were mesmerising. Amber’s kisses moved slowly from her lips, down her neck and teased the soft flesh of her breasts – working slowly towards the nipple.  She moaned softly.  Slows and sensual suckles became rapid and rough, the way the hostess quite obviously liked it.   I had to undo my cardigan, as it was getting somewhat steamy in the hotel room.  Amber had now obviously forgotten who’s property she was.

With both of them now bare, I was feeling somewhat left out.  They sensed this and both turned and looked at me with pouting lips, beckoning me to join them.  Hubba, hubba!  I didn’t want to ruin the fantasy that I was going to relive through every middle aged crisis from now on, so politely declined their offer.

Amber now arched her back, signalling to Jasmine that it was now her turn to be on the receiving end.  She fingered under the pillow and pulled out a vibrator of sizeable proportions.  “Take me all the way girl cause, tramps like us, baby we were born to run …”