AUTHOR'S NOTE : I recently caught this 1963 movie (the first of AIP's beach party epics), and was intrigued by Annette's entrance into the Professor's bungalow – he with his staid bathrobe and "academic" beard; and she in her well-filled 2-piece swimsuit. So I crafted this fantasy, to take things in a different direction. The photo above shows the scene, although I added her "matching beach wrap" for the story.

After the opening banter (taken from the movie), the POV shifts to 3rd-person limited re Dolores. This raises the question, what actually happens? See what you think.

Place : Balboa Beach, California

Time : The summer of '63

Nothing is greater than the sand, surf, and salt air
Unrack our boards just as soon as we get there
Stack 'em in the sand where they're breakin' just right
Yeah, we're surfing all day and swingin' all night –
Vacation is here... Beach Party tonight!

Marianne smiled wryly. "Don't you think it's time you got off the bench, and into the game?"

Before her colleague could answer, a melodic voice came from just outside the French doors. "Ohh, Robert?" And Dolores Allison undid the latch, and stepped in. With her beaming smile, and stunning body, garbed in a light pink 2-piece suit beneath a matching beach wrap. Quite a contrast to her casual togs at Big Daddy's last night.

Marianne eyed the new arrival, and quipped, "There's one of your teammates, here for batting practice." She didn't wait for a reply, before strolling out the other way.

Dolores stepped forward, and innocently poised her curvaceous beauty. Well, perhaps it wasn't entirely innocent. She had been intrigued, the night before, by the somewhat older man who had gallantly saved her from Von Zipper. And though she was not very experienced, she certainly knew that boys liked her figure. (In high school, she would secretly imagine being the "bad girl" in the magazines Donna smuggled inside their homework.)

"Hi, Robert," she greeted him, with a finger wave, as he came over to her. "You asked me to come by tomorrow," she continued demurely, but with a slight twinkle. She had seen his eyes light up at the swimsuit, peeking through the wrap. "So here I am today... just like you wanted." Her tone was modest and humble – with just a hint of "like you really wanted..."

"And you are right on time," praised Robert, eliciting a giggle from his guest. "I was just finishing another project, with this new species of flowers. Right over here –" He gestured, and she turned to the rack of plants by the telescope and tape deck.

Her face lit with surprise. This was another side of her champion, that she hadn't known about. "Those are beautiful, Robert."

"They are rather rare specimens," he remarked, professorially. "The only species, out of 13,000 in their order, to have these properties. That's why we have the windows closed..." He stepped to the French doors, and shut them. "...to keep the air a bit more tropical." Then he walked to the flower racks, and brought one of the larger planters, with the three largest blooms, back to Dolores. She nestled an outsized crown in her fingers, and admired it for a moment. "Oh, that's so nice!" Then she leaned in.

"Wow...!" she said, slightly awestruck. "That smells wonderful." She smelled it again, then blinked, and inhaled yet again. Her eyes became a touch cloudy, as she repeated, "Just... wonderful." She inhaled again, more fully this time. Her eyes clouded further, as a dreamy smile came to her lips. Robert turned the flowers about, and she eagerly cupped all three blooms together, in both hands. To inhale the intense, combined fragrance. It was so... so... wonderful. Like an incredibly delicious, sweet, aromatic honey, flowing into her. She moved her hips unconsciously, and purred like a kitten, as the pleasure rippled through her body.

She immersed her face in the flowers, and breathed in twice more. As deeply as she could. Losing herself in the rich, mesmerizing fragrance. The cool, smooth petals wafted it forth, from deep in their recesses, as she drew it in. She felt herself drifting, as the pleasure took her deeper. Feeling her mind go, and loving it. In a few moments more, her face began to go blank. Her fingers relaxed; the blooms slipped from her grasp. Her eyelids fluttered, and closed.

"Dolores... Dolores...?" came Robert's voice, from a distance. "Are you all right?"

Her eyes reopened, but were unfocused. Like they were looking in slightly different directions. She slowly drew erect. "I feel... fine," she replied, after a pause.

"Do you know who you are?" he followed up, and she turned partly towards him.

"I'm Dolores," she said, vaguely. Seeming to have trouble with her thoughts. She was looking into space, slightly down and to her left. "Dolores... something."

"And what do you do?" he asked.

"I'm... I'm a student. A freshman. At community college..." Then her brow furrowed, as she said again, more vaguely, "Yes, Dolores... I think..."

"You sound a bit confused," Robert observed. He cradled the large, colorful blooms with one hand; then guided Dolores' face towards them with his other. "Here, smell the flowers again. It will clear your mind."

Dolores obeyed the prompting. The fragrance was indeed wondrous. She unconsciously licked her lips. "More," Robert directed. "Again... more deeply." She did so, her chest rising with the breath. The scent seemed more luscious now; both tingling, and soothing. Relaxing her. "More..." Robert said gently, and she did so a third time. Drinking it in. Her eyes rolled back, and her lips parted, as Robert set the flowers aside and drew her upright again. After a moment, her eyes regained some focus, although now with a sort of fog.

"You were right. You're Dolores. Dolores D'Allessio."

The name sounded strange. "D'Allessio...?" she asked, through a haze.

"Yes, the Dolores D'Allessio. The exotic dancer. The world-famous stripper."

Her head tilted, oddly, as she looked at Robert. "Stripper?"

"Yes, of course. The richest, most famous, most beautiful in the world," Robert reiterated. "You're adored by millions. Lavished with money and luxury. There are stories about you in magazines everywhere." He brought the blooms in again, right below her face. "Men come from all over the world, to see you dance... to watch you strip. They give everything they have, to see you go all the way." He continued to hover the blooms, and repeated, "...all the way."

Dolores' head wavered, and a slight, spacey smile came across her face, as she breathed in the rich scent. Yes... stories in magazines. She was starting to remember.

"Say it back to me," Robert coaxed. "Who are you...?" And she replied, "I'm... Dolores. Dolores D'Allessio."

"And you said you were, what, a student?"

"No. I'm a stripper. The most famous stripper in the world. Men adore me. They give everything they have, to see me dance. To watch me strip..." "Because you go all the way," Robert prompted. She nodded, with her vague smile. Still looking into space. "Because I go all the way..."

There was the click of a tapped baton – and from the orchestra, a smooth, rhythmic beat welled forth. There were crowd noises, too. The sounds of thousands of men hooting, whistling, panting. Dolores looked around the huge teeming theatre, beyond the footlights, at the immense audience filling every seat. She moved forward, and stood at center stage. Her eyes were wide; her voice airy. "The most famous stripper in the world..." she spoke aloud. Standing in the spotlight; listening to the music. "I have to dance now. I have to strip..." "And go all the way..." said Robert's voice, from somewhere in front. Her eyes were wider, as she nodded, and repeated, "...go all the way."

She began to dance, slowly. Letting the music move her hips, her body. The smooth, swaying rhythm seemed to speak to her. It was something like a samba, but more silky. More seductive. Her hands lifted upward, and descended, sensuously. As she rotated her torso on a quarter axis, back and forth, just enough to summon their eyes to its curvaceous form. Taking control of the theatre, and every denizen.

Not one pair of eyes, out of thousands, was looking anywhere else. This was who they had come to see, from every country, every continent. Spending their last dime, selling their lives and their souls, to gaze upon her alone; to see her wonders revealed.

She gazed back at the thousands of men staring... watching her, mesmerized... and she smiled, at them and for them. She had a sexy smile; even sexier body; and a superbly sexy chest – and she loved the effect they had on men. When she smiled, all eyes met hers; when she posed, the eyes traveled downward, and all resistance melted. And when she arched her back, anything was hers. Diamonds, furs; luxury cars. Lavish penthouse suites, around the world. The most glamorous clothes; unlimited travel. Millions in cash, for whatever she wanted. All for her smile, her body, and her resplendent bosom.

Then the music shifted. Soaring swift and low, like a sea gull over the shore – yet with a compelling heartbeat, beneath and within. Complex, audacious. The heartbeat of a woman. She herself seemed to become the music, as she danced. Commanding the stage. Captivating the furthest balcony as surely as the Gold Row VIPs. Expertly timing every flick and flutter of her wrap's hem, as it teased at the very highest reaches of her legs – such that any man watching could think of nothing but the glories below, and the greater glories above.

Her eye zeroed in on one man, somehow familiar, with a beard. He was seated in the front row. From the time she'd done any performing at all, she had learned to pick out one special person in an audience, and perform just for him. This was the special person.

She danced on, sensuous, provocative – angel and devil – knowing that every passing moment excited the throng even more. Dancing for them, before them, until their senses were gone... and they could think of nothing but seeing her, all of her, all the way.

And at the perfect moment, her hands lifted to the lapels of her beach wrap. She granted a smile to her special spectator... and drew the hands apart. Holding his eyes with hers, as she opened the garment wide, and drew it down. And off. Letting it slip from her wrists to the stage. Presenting her beauteous figure in the pink, 2-piece swimsuit. There were gasps, and trills of excitement, from thousands of throats. The garb was her world-famous signature; her trademark. Contrasting to, and setting off, the stunning body that curved forth beneath it. Promising more than any satins or silks.

She splayed her fingers, and touched their tips together at the midpoint of the bra. Then she dragged them outward, across her breasts, with a saucy smile. Knowing how the crowd reveled in her complicity with their desires. Knowing, so keenly, how they were riveted by the thought of seeing what lay beneath.

The music stepped up a notch. Her eyes closed, her mouth gaped, as her head did a slow snap-roll. Her hips rocked back and forth... and she reached behind herself. To the hasps of the bra. She could feel the surge of their desire as she leaned back. So casually, and maddeningly, thrusting her chest forward. Teasing them out of their minds, with the promise of revelation.

The music intensified again, like it was running its hands up and down her curves, over every inch. Exciting her; turning her on. She quivered involuntarily, exciting the crowd in turn, as they imagined their own hands caressing her, and seducing her. The thought, the very thought, of seeing her nude was almost unbearably thrilling. Take it off, Dolores... the music whispered – while thousands of men, both silently and aloud, joined in the plea, Take it off... take it off! And indeed her body, so womanly, and sensual, couldn't help responding. She was built for giving pleasure, and receiving pleasure.

She held, as if resisting a final second; hands behind, with her back arched. Driving the crowd almost insane. Then she pivoted around, cocking a hip to one side, with a toss... as if her will was finally overcome... to let them watch her fingertips as they delicately, over several long, agonizing seconds, undid the three snaps. Three... two... one. She peeked over her shoulder, with sultry eyes, as her fingers crept down the ladder.

The audience, nearly 13,000 strong, was going crazy in the jam packed theatre. Men dashing up the aisles; standing on the seats. Fights breaking out everywhere, as other men dragged them out of the way. Her fingertips delicately twisted and turned the final snap. And twisted it, and turned it, as thousands of eyes stared, in ever-growing excitement; until at last the clasp popped apart. Then she turned forward again. The thousands of hearts beat with a single desire – to see those lush, glorious breasts. Lusting to see them, nude, at any cost. She held the strap together behind her, as the music vamped; driving them to even greater heights. The fighting, the madness, was mounting. In seconds, a total riot would break out. Then at the last possible moment, with a lustful smile herself, she pulled away the pale pink top... and revealed her voluptuous, spectacular bust. The faint tan lines framing them with audacious splendor – like the sex goddesses in the most sensational magazines. The theatre erupted in rapturous cheers. As she rolled her head again, she slowly rocked her shoulders side to side. Presenting the gift of her beauty to the world. Dolores D'Allessio... the most fabulous stripper in the world.

The music played on; speaking to her once more. She drew back her shoulders, and paced an ellipse about the vast stage. Circumnavigating it, as the percussion rose above the bass line, almost propelling her stride. Pivoting each leg just a few delightful degrees, with every step; causing her hips to swivel, and her full breasts to bounce so delectably. Her arms were straight at her sides, palms downward, as if her body were a magnificent, living sculpture being borne along.

And at a final downbeat, she suddenly stopped still... and turned 'round, to face upstage. With head lowered, she presented her superb, curvaceous backside. She began rocking her hips up and down, while swaying them also side-to-side, in a subtle, seductive figure-8. Casting a spell, like a cobra hovering as the swami's flute plays. Fixing every man's gaze on the very center of that slow, mesmerizing motion. Inflaming their desire to see those fascinating curves likewise unclothed, and revealed.

She drew her fingers up her thighs... to the hem of her swimsuit panties. She peeked over the other shoulder this time, and smiled coyly at the vast crowd – and the special spectator, in particular – as she traced her fingertips around the hem. From side to side... side, to side. Teasing them to even greater frenzy. Then as her hips continued to sway, she eased in her thumbs – and tortured the throng a final moment, by hesitating yet again.

Their pounding hands, and shouted pleas, rocked the theatre. The music, and her incredible figure, lashed them higher and higher. And at the last moment again, before new havoc broke loose, she began to slide the fabric down. Slowly... incredibly slowly. With that erotic grace and skill possessed by only the most gifted of women. Revealing the wondrous curves, and the cleft between. Curving, and deepening... curving, and deepening. More... and still more. The tension and excitement building to an unbearable degree, as the hem touched the midpoint. That sumptuous, carnal apex, between heaven and hell. And then... with a final, merciful, downward push... giving herself to the thousands of lust-crazed eyes. The wild cheering, from beyond the footlights, shook the rafters.

Every man in the world wanted her, and dreamed of winning her hand, her heart, and her fathomless, endlessly thrilling love. Love so deep, and blazing with passion, like a midnight bonfire on the beach. Like riding the perfect wave... from the curl, plunging down the crest, soaring across the glass, past the break, the foam, and finally to the golden sands.

Then the music spoke a third time; close to her ear, and enticing, like the sea in a conch. That's right, Dolores... and now you have to show more. You have to show everything. The limos... yachts... millions of dollars. All for you. If you keep going. If you go all the way...

Yet at this ultimate reveal, for some strange reason, inhibitions began welling up. Instinctively protecting her. A quiet voice, from within, suddenly told her to be careful; that something was wrong. Where did that come from? she wondered, about the qualm. Silly modesty was so unlike her worldly, jet-set sophistication.

She stopped swaying; her hands paused. Wait a second, she thought. She became more aware of her nudity, in an uneasy way, as the feelings grew. No... something wasn't right. What am I doing? Her arms half-consciously rose, to cover her chest. She glanced about; trying to think. But the messages streamed in, more audibly, All the way, Dolores... you have to go all the way. And into her mind flooded more images – of glamour, and fame; private jets; diamonds and silks, in penthouse paradises – if she would go all the way, and show her pussy.

The crowd was clamoring louder than ever. And the enticing voice whispered, yet again, All the way, Dolores. Now. Everything is yours... if you go all the way. Yet she hesitated still. Balking at this, her most intimate, desirable, womanly beauty.

And then, she seemed to feel something at her sides. On her skin, below her arms. It was a tickling. She giggled involuntarily at the sensation. The tickling continued, and she giggled more. She couldn't tell where it was coming from. She was still alone on the stage, in the spotlight, before the excited multitude. Was it somehow in the music? Then it increased, and she began laughing aloud. More tickling, and more laughter. It became intensely pleasurable, and she laughed louder, then louder still.

Her arms dropped from her chest. Her shoulders shook, causing her breasts to jiggle and bounce. Her mind began to spin, as the tickling became even more intense, more pleasurable, driving her into even greater fits. No! Wait...! a part of her tried to say. She needed to think. To be careful about... something. Careful about something... something... hahahaha... about, about something... something funny! Bwahahahahaha!

She was trying to think, but kept veering off, in the intense tickling and uncontrollable laughter. Her arms dangled, and moved aimlessly, like a rag doll. And again came the beguiling voice, Think nothing of it... nothing at all. You just have to strip. You have to go all the way. And the tickling, impossibly, became more intense than ever. Riffling up and down her sides, and over her belly, and under her arms; devilishly fingering her. Her head rolled back; a tear ran down her cheek, as she laughed helplessly. Her arms were rubbery now. Her legs wobbled, but somehow, as if from some unseen support, she stayed upright.

Show your pussy... your sexy pussy, the music repeated. Pussy, pussy, pussy... The words themselves were tickling her like feathers. Making her laugh even more. Her hands started moving vaguely, and then touched the swimsuit panties. I have to strip. I have to show my pussy... my sexy pussy wussy. And she laughed harder yet, at the silly doggerel. Pussy wussy! Hahahaha! They want to see my pussy wussy! She kept laughing and laughing, nearly out of her mind. The money no longer mattered. The limos, or diamonds – or protecting anything. All she knew, all she could think about, was the insane pleasure of the tickling. Pussy wussy... show my pussy wussy...! Hahahahahaha!

Helpless to resist, laughing harder and harder; hanging upon the invisible supports; she started pushing the panties downward... pussy wussy!... and down. Further, and more... and wondrously more. The crowd going wild. The first brunette wisps... then darker, lusher... each centimeter more intimate, more thrilling... not caring, not protecting... just laughing uncontrollably now, and showing more. Coming nearer her pussy, and laughing, and nearer, and nearer... keep going... to her pussy... her beautiful pussy... push them down more... that's it... more... More... MORE... and suddenly down all the way... and off. The panties dropped to her ankles. The audience launched to its feet. The whole theatre exploded, in utter pandemonium. The clapping, the stomping, the shouting; the orchestra at full volume but unheard; seats and railings being ripped apart; hats flying. A madhouse of excitement.

Finally naked, naked at last, the tickling trailed off. The deafening tumult subsided. She laughed a final time, softly, as the tingling sensations ebbed away. Then she sighed. "Oh, my..." Her eyes closed, as her lips curved into a smile. She suddenly felt relaxed, and marvelously content. Like a tigress having its belly rubbed; its ferocity melting away into purrs. Rubbing 'round, and 'round – causing her, irresistibly, to wriggle her hips. Like a kitten... a sex kitten... wagging its tail.

She smiled wider, her eyes still closed, and hummed a moment with the music. She liked the thought of being a kitten. Cozied in smooth fur; petted and pleasured, by skillful fingers, in just the right places. Plied with champagne and catnip, to make her giggly... so she would wag her sexy, naked tail.

She was the ultimate, the font, of female sensuality and sexuality. She had what every woman wanted, and every man wanted. With her tempting smile and shapely beauty, she had her choice – and was the choice – of every male who saw her.

Then she half-opened her eyes; the most seductive bedroom eyes imaginable. She laid her hands along her thighs, and slid them up her luscious figure; curving them over her hips and into her waist; and upward, to nestle her magnificent breasts. Then combing her fingers up through her hair, and stretching her arms overhead. She loved herself, and loved her incredible sexual beauty; and loved being alive, and being rich, and adored by millions. Why have inhibitions? she mused. It was silly. Life was so easy without them. Why do pretty girls work, or worry, or go to school? she wondered. When all you have to do is strip?

She rocked back her head; and cupped her hands to the heavens. Bathed in the music, as she arched her hips to the side. Brazen, bold, unbelievably gorgeous... in the spotlight, upon the vast stage. Totally nude; totally free. Dolores D'Allessio... the most famous, most spectacular, most celebrated stripper in the world. And at that moment, a bouquet of flowers came sailing out of the darkness before her.

It seemed to come from the first row, though she wasn't sure. It cleared the orchestra pit, hit the apron, and slid across the stage to her feet. It was a present, from a man. A beautiful Thank You, for showing her pussy. Oh, that's so nice! She liked presents from men. She looked in the direction it came from, and bestowed her sexiest smile; then turned around to let her shy admirer look at her from behind once more. She peeked over her shoulder, slyly, as she swayed her hips back and forth, just for him. Then she turned to the front, and softly swung her big breasts, as her own special Thank You for the flowers – and winked. Finally, she lifted the lush bouquet, and inhaled the scent.

She blinked with delight. Wow! Her eyes closed, and she inhaled again the heavenly perfume. What a wonderful gift...! It was the richest, most arousing fragrance she had ever experienced. She held the bouquet to her face with both hands, imbibing the redolence, with the dreamiest smile yet. As she did, she leaned back. To give the kind man an even better view of her pussy, in return for the amazing flowers.

The blooms had a heady, euphoric effect. Pleasure-inducing. Even stronger than some others she vaguely remembered. As she drew it in, more deeply, her mind began to reel. "All the way," she seemed to hear a final time. The scent was wonderful – and dizzying. "For everyone; for everything. All the way..." And with another breath, her legs parted a step. Her hips angled forward, and she lolled her awesome pussy to its fullest, for all. Bringing the theatre to a final frenzy, an uproar. Shaking the catwalks; nearly bursting the roof. The orchestra built to a climactic, shattering crescendo... and, at a clack of the baton, fell silent.

The lights came up, and she cast her gaze around the vast, wildly cheering house; with a full-lipped smile and foggy eyes. Taking in the riotous acclaim for her and her superb body. A sheen of sweat glistened on her breasts, as they rose and fell. The crowd was out of its mind – shouting her name, vowing their love, begging her to stay. A tremor of joy, the purest joy, shimmered through her. As the cheering rolled on, she drew one foot behind the other, poised her free arm to the side – and bowed her head. Tendering her own love, in return, as a tear gleamed at the corner of her eye. Then she stepped forward, and waved with one hand, while cradling the flowers with the other. Triumphant; spent; supremely happy. The most sensational stripper in the world.

Although her head was swimming a bit, and the show over, she suddenly felt a hunger for one more breath of the ultra-potent fragrance. Just one more, before taking her leave, and boarding her chartered jet for the next record-breaking, sold-out engagement. To be followed by a month's leisure on the French Riviera, for the holidays – strolling the Mediterranean beaches; haute couture boutiques; movie premieres. Visiting her uncle's vineyard in Provence. The French Open regional in Saint-Tropez. Christmas in Marseilles with her cousines and their horses – and after midnight Mass, a call to her parents via Telstar, on its trans-Atlantic pass (arranged by the US ambassador... who had seen her strip in Paris)

Lunching with friends and stars; dinners with the most special few. The legendary night life. Sharing a moonlight walk, a kiss... her bed... or not, as the mood took her. And capped by her annual New Year's Eve performance at Casino de Monte-Carlo, to benefit Prince Rainier's charity guild (tickets starting at $13,000 American)

So she lifted the flowers, and immersed herself a final time in the lavish, scent-laden blooms. And with that last deep intake, her eyes went wide, and rolled in a circle. She felt herself start to sag; but also felt some sort of support like before, which gently lowered her to the stage. Her hands went limp, and she let loose of the bouquet. But it was still in her face somehow; the blossoms tickling her cheeks. The woozy pleasure increased, and she dozed off, with a blissful smile – the thunderous ovation, like crashing waves, still ringing in her ears.

"Dolores... Dolores...?" came Robert's voice, from a distance. "Are you all right?"

Her eyes drifted open, and focused on the concerned face, gazing down at her. After a moment she became more awake, and sat up. She held the lapels of her beach wrap with one hand, and touched the other to the swimsuit she wore underneath. "You were smelling the flowers, and seemed to get sleepy," Robert explained. "Then you sank to the floor."

"Oh, my," she said, as Robert helped her to her feet. "This is so embarrassing."

"No problem," he said reassuringly. "I'm just glad you're all right. You might be coming down with something. Perhaps you should return to your cabana, and lie down there."

She took a few seconds, to get her bearings. Then she smiled. "I guess I'd better!"

"I can walk you there, if you like," Robert offered.

"No... no," she declined, not wanting to seem like a hapless girl. She drew a breath of the fresh sea breeze, coming through the open windows. The familiar rhythm of the surf was bracing. "I'll be okay. It was only for a minute."

"Hmmm, maybe we should forget about the whole project."

"No, of course not, Robert," she asserted, in a reassuring way herself. She placed her hand on his, and looked him straight in the eye. "I promise I'll be back tomorrow."

"Well, just to be on the safe side, maybe you should bring a friend along. I saw you talking with someone yesterday. Reddish brown hair. The girl who sings."

Dolores nodded. "Yes, that was Donna." She thought it over. "Yes, I think she'll come. That's a good idea, Robert. And I'm really, really sorry I couldn't do anything for you today."

"Think nothing of it," he said, with a friendly smile. "Nothing at all."

He walked her to the door where, impulsively, she squeezed his hand. Then she headed down the beachfront, towards the girls' cabanas – looking back for a moment to wave, but resisting the idea of blowing a kiss. That would be too forward, she felt. He waved back, and she happily went her way.

APRIL 2019:

Sequel now posted, Beach Party, take 3: Say it (again) with flowers. Ronny and Deadhead find the flowers later on... and try to follow in the Professor's footsteps. The link is on my Profile page.