Jailhouse Rock

“Gaah!”

Theodore Albert Skinner involuntarily shouted with alarm as he looked up from his book, which he dropped, and saw the strange figure in his cell.

He caught his breath, and tried to compose himself.

A young woman stood casually beside the desk, holding a coiled rope, smiling at him. Not bad looking either. He’d been in prison now going on two years, seeing women only in court, magazines, on television and in his dreams.

“Who are you,” he asked wonderingly. With his Alabama accent, he pronounced “you” as “yew.” He marveled at the sight of her; auburn hair framing big blue eyes, pert nose, slight freckles on good cheekbones, smiling cherry lips and an elfin chin; a friendly, even sunny open countenance.

She wore a snug white long-sleeved blouse, and had a trim waist. Pretty legs in a mid-thigh-length blue skirt with red and white polka-dots, and turquoise cowboy boots.

Maybe 5-foot, six or seven.