That said, one thing I do remember is mom telling me to stay away from “flippy-tailed girls”- her words. Being a teen-aged male, I began to focus on the tails of girls to observe which ones flipped and which ones did not. Obviously, the flippy-tailed girls were out of bounds as per mom’s advice. She must know something about those girls that I’m not yet allowed to know, but can be forewarned by diligently following her instructions. It suddenly became and obsession of sorts. I’d see the girls with pretty faces at the Family YMCA swimming pool all summer long - more easily observed in their all-too-colorful two-piece swimsuits behind my Foster Grants and make my studies.
If I liked their faces, I advanced my gaze downward to the "upper deck" area then finally, I looked at their tushy as they passed-by. “Oops, there’s another one that flips." As attractive as she might have otherwise been, that one is out. The more I looked for the non-flippers, the more I noticed that all female tails flipped - just some more than others. I also noticed a curious arousal in my mind and certain body functions. It was a quivering feeling of unknown, but system-wide origin, but it exhibited itself more prominently elsewhere. I was a good feeling, but a bit uncomfortable and awkward, at times. This was something new. It gave me a "rush" that I couldn't explain. I remember kids asking why the tan on my back was darker than the one on my face. I didn't have an answer for them.
It wasn’t until later, in high school Biology Class that I learned the differences allotted to the bone structure differential between a man’s hip bones and a woman’s hip bones were of a natural evolution - to allow for natural childbirth. Science sucks when it spoils illusion and mystique. That knowledge spoiled it for me. Like "magic"; it's no longer amazing when you know how it was done.
Shortly thereafter, I learned that some women can cultivate that “flip” for the benefit of those who like to watch. Socio-anthropologists might call it part of the mating ritual of the species. As time went on, I learned the style or gaits whereby women featured their walk. Some women clearly wanted to be noticed and attractive, while others didn’t care to elaborate beyond motivation to get where they were going. The ultimate was the stalk-walk, or West Coast Strut. It had the look of both a predator from the front view and magnetic attraction of prey from the rear view. The West Coast Strut' - a true poetry in female motion where tall women with shapely legs put that natural hip sway and long strut to maximum effect through rhythmic exaggeration. Unfortunately, I’ve never seen in on any woman in my life except via television, the modeling runway or the movies. - hence the name. From that reference, I suppose I imply that I truly have never lived in that world, but I do appreciate that it exists for some reason.
Some women seem to seemingly glide on air as they walk; some walk like western-saddle horseback riding might have been in order for them, English-saddle riders were more poised and knew they had lovely tushes to look at. Often males in the reviewing stands might be heard to say, “nice seat” - not referring to the brand of saddle, by any means. I remember a girl in my Junior High who bounced a little bit and bobbed her head in rhythm with that bounce. For the record, at her pre-pubescent age, she wasn’t yet a full-fledged tail-flipper - not yet, but I’m sure she later was. The girls in my school with modeling aspirations or dreams of someday dating Elvis Presley tried walking with a textbook on their head. It was a sign of good posture and poise.
I often wondered if mom’s advice was meant to dissuade me from getting involved with women at an age to early in life. I eventually realized that mom’s advice was a reverse psychology technique to motivate me toward the inevitable real mating ritual between men and women that would surely come along, in due time It was her way of judging me intentions. She thought she was steering me in the right direction. I guess my magazine fold-out photos of teen actress Haley Mills, from the Disney Parent Trap movie surrounded by Playboy Centerfolds stolen from her boyfriend’s magazine collection Scotch-taped to the back of my bedroom door didn’t convince her. Who reads their articles anyway? I just didn’t have enough money to actually “date” a real girl. My busy paper route business wasn’t exactly flourishing. I think I worked all summer for a total amount less than minimum wage for three weeks, but with no taxes due. Lucky for me, my Columbia Record Club albums cost less than $5.00 per month.
Eventually, I found a wide-hipped, tail-flipper and married her. We had two children, got divorced seventeen years later. It seems there’s more to life and relationships than whether or not girls have a flippy tail. Clearly, there are other factors which are more important. Where would those warnings come from? Life, itself.
Parents: We love them. They love us and we must always remember they mean well.