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Bill Wenzel (1918-1987) – american vintage cartoonist
His bawdy, cartoon spot illustrations were published over the course of several decades, from such publications as Judge in the 1940s to Sex and Sexy in the 1960s and 1970s, and particularly for the Humorama division of publisher Martin Goodman’s variously titled corporations. Wenzel’s work, which featured busty, big-eyed, yet innocently risque young women, was published in such magazines and digests as Gaze, Joker, Jest, Comedy, and Stare

Bill Wenzel


Read “In the Rain”

a Short Story Inspired by Bill Wenzel

Click to Read In the Rain

It was a long, hot summer – the kind that baked every inch of grass in the city park dry and left people gasping in the heat… but which occasionally gave way to intense, short little bursts of rain. These storms swept in out of nowhere, hammered down for fifteen minutes, and then blew on out of there again, leaving everything just as sun soaked and beautiful as it had been before. It took some getting used to. Even in the hottest weather I always carried an umbrella, as did most of the locals. The out of towners were the ones who’d always get caught in the rain. More than once they’d come dripping into the cafe where I worked to take shelter from the rain.

 

This particular morning was a quiet one, and it just so happened that when the heavens opened I was the only one left in the shop. My co-worker Manni had just stepped out to get some smokes, and was now no doubt taking shelter somewhere while the rain came down. There weren’t any customers either, just me on my lonesome… at least until she stepped in the door.

 

I knew at once that she was something different. Not only was she from out of town, but she looked like she was from out of state… if not from out of the whole damn country. There was something smokily exotic about her that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Anyway, she had clearly not come prepared. Her short skirt and black top were dripping with wetness, and her long blonde hair was slicked into strands beneath the smart black beret she wore on her head. She looked at me damply from the other side of the cafe. “Sorry to duck in like this,” she said. “It was just the rain. It came on so suddenly.” I laughed, and we made small talk for a little while. Her name was Bridget, and she was indeed over from France. As we spoke I couldn’t help but appreciate her face and body. I’d always had a thing for foreign beauties, and Bridget was one that had to be seen to be believed. “Can I offer you a drink?” I said. “On the house, of course.”

 

Manni hated me offering customers free drinks, but since he wasn’t here I figured I might as well exercise my freedom while I had it. Bridget gratefully accepted a steaming hot cup of coffee, which she held in both hands. With her hair all wet like that and the rainwater dripping off her nose she really was quite cute.

 

“I’m freezing,” she said. “Ugh. I have a change of clothes, but…” She glanced shyly at me. At that stage a better man than myself might have pointed her towards the restrooms at the back of the little cafe. But I was enjoying her company, and so I simply shrugged.

 

“I don’t mind,” I said. “If you want to get changed right here, feel free.” Bridget looked at me with a calculating expression. Then she glanced towards the front of the shop. The pounding rain made the glass all but opaque, and there was no way any other customers would be joining us – not through this downpour. With a smile beginning to form on her face, Bridget nodded. “No hard in it,” she said. And then, without waiting another beat, she took hold of the hem of her top and pulled it off over her head.

 

I couldn’t help but gasp. I had hoped – but not really expected – that she’d be bold enough to get changed in front of me. It was all I could do to watch with fascination as she stripped off her skirt as well. The body beneath was perfectly-proportioned. She was slim and pale, each breast a heavy handful. Her stomach and legs were gloriously toned.

 

And, as I watched, without so much as a flicker of embarrassment, Bridget stripped away her plain white bra and panties as well. There she stood before me, completely naked. I couldn’t stop my eyes roving to her dark nipples, and then to the soft, downy line of hair above her snatch. Her eyes met mine, and she smiled, even tilted her hips a little to show off the curve of her backside.

 

Then, just as quickly as she’d stripped, Bridget pulled a light summery dress from her bag and wriggled into it. I noticed that she didn’t bother replacing her panties, or her bra. As she stuffed her wet clothes back into the bag, all she wore was that light slip of blue fabric. It was safe to say that I was absolutely hypnotized. The shape of her… the delicate ridge of her collarbones… everything had me suckered like a gawping teenager.

 

When she had finished packing away her things, Bridget padded over to me. She looked so slinky and sensuous in just that dress – it hinted at nudity, even as it covered her. She leaned across the counter, and put a hand on my chin, gently shutting my mouth – I had literally been gaping at her with my mouth open without even realizing it.

 

Then, leaning even further across the counter and giving me a glimpse of her luscious cleavage as she did so, she kissed me full on the lips. Our mouths met, and her tongue pressed into mine. For a minute or two I could think of nothing else.

 

And then she pulled back. At that exact moment, the rain shifted. Sunlight burst once more through the cafe, illuminating not only the waiting tables and chairs, but also Bridget herself. Her skin glowed in the brightness.

 

“It is time for me to go,” she said – and without a backward glance she waltzed on out of there. I was left standing behind the counter, completely taken aback. And it was only later, when I went to clear the cafe, that I found she’d left behind a little gift for me: her plain white bra, still wet from the rain.

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