Little Eddie’s Girls

By:  Garland Davis

“You know, that boy couldn’t make out in a whore house with a pocket full of fuck chits.”  I am sure we have all heard this said about someone we know to whom it applies.  An inept individual who alienates women just by existing.

Little Eddie was just the opposite.  Eddie was just under five feet tall.  He confessed to me once that he had a growth spurt in boot camp. Eddie told me that his recruiter fed him six pounds of bananas and a half gallon of water before his physical just so he could make the minimum weight requirements.  He said he didn’t shit for a week afterward.

Eddie’s child’s body and cherubic face brought out the maternal instinct in women.  Even the most mercenary, hard-hearted whore just wanted to mother him.  Eddie was offered more pussy by accident that the rest of us could buy on purpose.  The biggest problem Eddie had was his taste in women.  If there was a woman in the group who had the body and mass of an offensive tackle that was the one he would take out for the night.  Kinda like the rest of us would settle for a less attractive woman if we couldn’t make it with a prettier one, Eddie would take a more feminine girl if he couldn’t find one with a body like Shaq’s.

I served in two different ships with Eddie.  We were both First Class Petty Officers in an old Forrest Sherman Destroyer and a couple years later CPO’s in a Tanker.  I was a cook and Eddie was a radioman.  We were both single and prowling the CPO Club and bars of Honolulu and various WestPac ports.  I partnered with Eddie because he would attract the women and I could hopefully make out by consoling the more attractive ones that he passed over for the wide bodies.

Back in the day, Honolulu had a Triple A Baseball Team.  Eddie and I were avid baseball fans and attended many of the home games.  By the third inning, we would have a gaggle of females around us.  The old Honolulu Stadium bleachers were prime recruiting grounds for available women.

It was embarrassing at times when people would mistake Little Eddie for my brother or my son when we were in civilian clothes.  I have seen bartenders and barmaids card him and still refuse to serve him, claiming that his ID had to be a fake.  We often wore our uniforms when out carousing just to avoid the confusion over his identification.

Once in Kaohsiung, Taiwan, a pretty, no she was beautiful, bar girl fell in love with Eddie.  Every time he went ashore, she stalked him.  Every time he gave her the slip, we would tell her where he was.  She once invaded the hotel room where he was being entertained by one of his “Eddie’s Pretty Girls” as we called them.   The last time I saw her she was crying, asking, “I more pretty than her, why he no like me?”

I ran into Eddie a few years after we both retired.  He introduced me to his wife.  True to form, Eddie had married a woman who looked as if she could carry him around under her arm and burp him over her shoulder after breastfeeding.  The way Eddie beamed at her, he appeared to be as happy as a pig in a mud hole.