Sharlene Contrelle

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From the 1986 novel Fuel-Injected Dreams by James Robert Baker.

Now, here was a girl you could be proud to be ashamed of, a tough little dolled-up working-class slut, libidinous jailbait with an evil streak, a juvenile offender with a cherry-red mouth, with Cadillac chrome-bumper breasts you would mow down a crippled nun to get to. Here was a girl who got down, put out, got knocked up and had to leave school, a girl who got drunk but didn't puke out your car window, who didn't have to be in by eleven, who didn't wear little white gloves, who wasn't in love with her horse, who didn't drive a T-bird but took the bus, who popped pills and wouldn't think you were sick if you went down on her, who wouldn't make a face if you suggested she go down on you. She was a cheap brunette angel, the stuff of dirty jack-off dreams, not one of the refined blond girls you were supposed to marry. But she never understood this.

(pp.12-13)