Note: They used to talk about Stagedoor Johnnies, the men who hung around theaters with flowers and candy for the showgirls. Then women and girls got liberated and got horny, and they called the starstruck ones groupies.

But there are some of us who call ourselves by another name. We are drawn to a special class of classy ladies, to those mature beauties who appreciate a man who appreciates a vintage affair. We call ourselves the silver surfers. And this is one of our stories.

Tommy G., Pittsburgh

It is so rad that there are other guys who get off on old stars.

OK, so this is how I got started. Well, it's actually my only story, but now I got hopes. So, here goes.

First, I'm 18. And I love Nick at Nite. Like who doesn't, right? And so when they had this contest and the winners got a free cruise with Nick stars, I was like, me for that! So I riff through the questions on the phone-in quiz and the stuff after that and next thing you know I'm packing for Miami.

Now, there are other shows on Nick and I suppose some people really like them, but for me there's nothing like the greatest TV show ever made. Which is the "Brady Bunch," right? Naturally.

So I am, like, stoked when I hear who's going to be on board.

Everybody at school watches the Bunch. Everybody who matters, anyway. And most of the guys have their favorite. Some of 'em go for Marcia, which is totally bogus because she's so stuck up she's only going to go with, like, the quarterback or something. Other guys go for Jan, which is probably because all the losers seek each other out. There's even one guy who says he has the hots for Alice, but he's a stoner and I think he's got her confused with Alice Cooper, who is actually this old dude who was, like, a rock singer with this whole Rocky Horror thing going on like, ages ago.

But a few of us with real taste worship the most beautiful Brady of them all: Carol. Which is why I was out of my head when they said it was for real: Florence Henderson -- that's her real-life name -- was coming on the cruise.

Yeah, she's married and all, but, I figured, her husband's gotta be some old dude, right? I mean, the lady herself is just this side of 70. So what are the odds she's gonna pass up a shot with a guy who could actually get it up? Meaning me. I ain't no Adam Sandler or nothing in the looks department, but I'm in decent shape and all.

The first day on board is kinda a pisser, on account of they got us all scheduled with shit so you get your 15 minutes to meet all the stars and your 30 minutes to eat lunch and there are these Nick people all over the place so I barely even get a chance to see her. And in the evening there's a party but I get trapped in a corner with some old guy who must be out of it because he claims he's been on every show ever -- I mean, "Love Boat" and "Get Smart" and even something called "That Girl." Yeah, right.

By the time I peel loose of this guy the party's over and no Flo. There were some other chicks around, though, and I spend a little time ogling the teeny bikinis around the pool -- Erin Moran, the sister from "Happy Days," that snarky waitress from "Cheers" -- not the short ugly one, the one who tanked in the movies (like she could replace the divine Miss Henderson -- not!), and the hotter of the two daughters from "Family Ties." Between them and some of the babes who won the cruise like me, I get a boner like a fencepost and I'm tempted to put a move on somebody, but I swore I'd hold off for Florence so I head to my cabin to slam the sausage for relief. Only my bunkmate is there, a total loser who must've stumbled onto the contest by mistake when he forgot to turn off the tube after "SquarePants." I have to head into the head to beat the meatles but SpongeBob pounds on the door after five minutes so I give up and go to bed with a major case of blue balls.

Up the next morning and the john smells worse than a fat kid's gym locker. I almost rip off a technicolor yawn before the air clears. SpongeBob comes walking in with his shirt already covered with breakfast stains and doesn't even apologize when he walks past me and lays down a major fartillery barrage. I yank on my clothes like, pronto Tonto, and hi-yo the hell out of there.

Up on deck, bingo -- no, not Flo, I mean most of the oldies on board are playing bingo with some greasy British dude babbling on. So I climb up to the top deck to get away from the gab and maybe scarf some fresh air.

It's pretty empty up there, a bunch of plastic deck chairs and just a few folks lying around. I go over toward one side to snag a chair but as I'm passing some woman lying down with a big straw hat over her face she reaches out and taps me on the leg and asks me for a rum and Coke.

I'm all set to say get it yourself when she lifts the lid and, yeah, it's Her! Mrs. Brady. In the flesh! Well, mostly. I mean, all she's got on is a white one-piece bathing suit, and it's cut high on the hips and low in the chest and I'm, like, sproing! Paging Mr. Allen, we've got a woody!

Florence is no Britney, but she sure as hell ain't bad for an old broad. Overlook a few varicose veins and her legs are fantastic. Her body's still got all her curves, with nice-sized mounds spilling out on top. Yeah, there are an awful lot of freckles on her chest, and she's got some of that Ruffles-have-rrridges stuff going on at her elbows, around the eyes and such. But her smile's still 200 watts and, like the man said, in the dark it don't matter if the pussy's gray. Or something like that.

So, anyway, she squints at me and puts on a pair of silver sunglasses.

Then she's all, Oh, you aren't the waiter. But I'm like, that's OK, I'll get it. And she's like, no, I wouldn't impose, I'm sorry, that stuff. And I go, hey, anything for Mrs. Brady. And she goes, no, really. Then I go, 's OK. And she's like, that's kind of you, but.

It was all back-and-forth like passing around the check at Denny's, you know? But finally we cut the shit and I actually got to talk to her, and I was all, nice weather, and she was all, yes, it is. Cool, huh?

Now, the only hitch was I had a tentpole in my shorts I didn't want her to see -- not yet, anyway. So I'm hiding behind another chair, moving my hands around, trying to cover up, and that makes it tough to concentrate on what I'm saying.

Florence, though, is, like, Miss Congeniality. Smiling, friendly, even laughs at something I say that comes out sort of like a joke. So it's like, no big shock that my boner's going bonkers by now. Whose wouldn't, right? Sexy older woman who's actually nice to you? I can smell the Downy on the sheets already. I'm gonna get me a Brady.

But just when I'm trying to think of ways to steer the conversation in the right direction, some poindexter from Nick bobs up and says Mrs. Henderson needs to join everyone in the Mambo Lounge for some kind of meet and mingle. Hey, like she isn't mingling already? And I'll show her some meat. But the guy hauls her off. I try to get into the thing, but some suit at the door says full up so I book back to the room.

I spread out on my bunk to milk the snake, but no sooner do I have the one-eyed wonder out than SpongeBob comes barging in with a couple of other social rejects he's scrounged up, and he says they're gonna use the room 'cause they gotta hook up their iPods to share Boyzone MP3s. I manage to stuff Mr. P. Niss back inside my shorts and head out to prowl the decks again, with a major case of nut crunch going on.

I couldn't find anyplace to be alone, so I just found the videogame lounge and booted some twirp who was bogarting Death Race, taking out some frustration on innocent pedestrians.

It didn't help much; I still had a gopher in the hole when I went back to the cabin. But SpongeBob and his little pals were done, so I locked myself in the bathroom long enough to have a cold shower before dinner.

It was assigned seating, and I had some numbnuts bit players that night. Even worse, they put SpongeBob with me. He started in about my leaving wet towels on the floor and didn't stop complaining the whole meal.

I skip dessert and walk out to the railing to stare at the night, but the Sponge and his pussy of a posse follow me. He'd made some crack during dinner about the Bunch, and I'd made the mistake of defending the show. So now him and his homo homeboys are dissing the Bunch to my face, like a lot of little boys trying to tease the one kid who's discovered girls don't have cooties. I try to ignore them. But then one of the Sponge's crew cracks on Florence Henderson and is all like Shirley Jones is the bomb and "Partridge Family" rules.

Which is, like, so totally bogus. The Partridges stink. And you ever see Shirley Jones these days? She's been dipped in the ugly bucket for sure.

I don't want to get into that with these losers, but I can't let the insults to Florence go by, of course. So I carefully explain how she is the most perfect sitcom mom ever, as well as a totally hot babe. And six times the actress Shirley Jones ever was.

Naturally, they can't deny my arguments. So, instead, they start whaling on me. With these wussies it's like being attacked by a school of minnows, but you get enough powderpuffs together and they can do a little damage, so I back up against the rail and try to hold 'em off.

All of a sudden they back off as someone yells at them to break it up. Sure enough, it's Florence to save the day.

She's the prettiest cavalry you'd ever hope to see. Her rose red dress, all ruffles and folds, flutters like flames as she smacks all those doofuses on their behinds and sends them off with a scorching that used words I didn't dream Mrs. Brady would know. Soon as they've scooted she's so close to me I can feel her breath as she checks my face for damage. I've got a tiny cut on the side of my mouth. She produces an embroidered hankie and dabs at it, then moistens a bit of the cloth with her spit and washes off the spot. "Good as new," she says. "Are you all right? Does anything else hurt?"

Well, yeah. My weiner is trying to rise from the dead but my jeans are too tight. But I'm not gonna say that. So I'm like, no, I'm OK. And she's like, good. "Do you want to report this?" she asks.

"To who," I go.

"Hmm. I don't know. I've never... to the captain? To Nickelodeon? If those boys try anything else..." I'm all like, no, it'll be fine. 'Cause I'm thinking, boys? Those turds were my age!

But then Florence is all, good night, and, like, booking. I figure, great, blown chance No. 186. But then I get a brain flash and blurt out, "Except I can't go back to my room."

She's like, what? And I explain that the leader was my cabin partner so who knows what he'll do. She's all ready to march down with me and I'm figuring, all right! She'll let me bunk with her! But, of course, no such luck. Earth to Mr. Brain, no fox like Florence is just gonna invite some "boy" to sleep with her. She's talking about how we can pick up my stuff and then go to some guy from Nick who she says can hook me up with a cabin left over because one of the actors ended up in detox just before the cruise.

I'm trying to figure out what to do but my mind is taking a synapse siesta so all I can do is walk through it and hope old Sarah Bellum checks in with a plan at some point. We grab my stuff, with SpongeBob snickering and me trying to keep Florence from seeing my Brady Bunch jammies. Then I chase her up and down decks until we find the Nick guy and I move into the new cabin -- pretty cool, actually, bigger than the old one. But before I can put the moves on -- heck, before I can think of moves to try -- Florence is all, like, good night. It's, like, one dream about to pop up, it's toast.

Then I hear someone saying that he's still kinda nervous and maybe a stroll on deck would help, and I'm thinking, hey, nice line, why didn't I think of that? And Florence says she will and I'm, like, whoa -- I did! I did think of that!

So we're out the door and I lead her up to the top deck again. This time, it's completely deserted. It's deep night, but the stars are splattered all over and the moon is full. We step up to the rail and look down at the reflection in the water. The moonlight is all, like, twinkling and glittering off the waves, like some way-cool screensaver.

It's all quiet. Which is cool by me on account of I'm not sure what to say. But Florence fills in by telling me that she appreciates me sticking up for her with those nerds. I'm all, nema problema, and she's all, no, it was nice. So, being a gentleman, I stop arguing and agree with her.

She starts in on how nice it is I'm willing to spend time with an old lady like her and I go, you still look beautiful to me. Which makes her smile. And then I tell her about my favorite Bunch episodes, which naturally are the ones where you saw the most of her. Which also makes her smile. And we talk some more and look at the moon and the water.

By now it's getting a little breezy and Florence shivers. I'd have given her my jacket but I wasn't wearing one. Which is why instead I put an arm around her.

By the time I realized what I'd done, Florence had leaned into me and put her head on my shoulder and I'm thinking, thank you, Mr. Moon. Because I figure, like, I did not have the smoothest rap in the world, so I can't take credit. Must have been the scenery.

So we're cuddling, which is totally wild, and I'm trying to figure out what to do next. And right below us in the water, something jumps up in the air and splashes back down. Dolphin, maybe, or porpoise, or I don't know, do sharks jump or is it that people jump sharks? Whatever.

What happens next is what's so smoking. Because Florence, she has like this little start when she sees the whatever. And she turns to me and starts to say something, which I figure was gonna be "What was that?"

Only it comes out "What waaa-mmmph!"

Because, see, she was already leaning against me. So when she turns her face to me, it's, like, right up in my face. Like right there, you know. And did I mention the moonlight? And that I have the hots for her?

So she turns to me and I plant my lips right on hers.

Oh, man, kissing Florence Henderson!

I didn't have time to think about it or nothing. I mean, her lips were right there and I just puckered up and went for it.

It wasn't anything like I'd been afraid it would be, like kissing your aunt or something. On account of Florence was so old and all, I mean. But it wasn't like that. I got her full on the lips, no shit. And, like, held it there, not one of those drive-by peckings from your cousin at a family wedding.

So it ends and I come up for air and Florence is staring at me, eyes wide open, and I figure that's maybe not a good sign. And she goes, "Well, I..."

So I plant another one on her, because I don't think I want to hear what was gonna come next.

And this time I slip my other arm around her, too, and I hold her close and I can smell her flowery perfume and even feel her heart beating against my chest -- or maybe it was my heart -- and, I gotta confess, something else happens too. I get stiff. Like never before. I mean we're not talking woody anymore, we're talking titanium steel. And it's prodding out the front of my shorts and we're so close I know it musta been poking her, like, right where it counts. Plus she's squirming against me, which I figure has gotta mean she feels it jabbing her. Which maybe is not such a great move, so I get worried about what she's gonna say when we come up for air. Which I decide to put off as long as I can by keeping a liplock on her. And eventually she stops squirming and even seems to be getting into it. Well, at least a little. Anyway, instead of her hands pushing into my chest a little like at first, she slips them around my sides and even sorta hugs me back. Which I figure can't be bad.

So, like I said, we kiss. Then we stop. And Florence is still just a couple inches from my face and breathing funny. And she says, "Well!" And "Oh, my!"

Which I don't have an answer to.

So I kiss her again.

This time she definitely gets into it right from the start. I mean, she's got her arms around me and one hand's going through my hair and the other kinda drifts down and bam! Florence Henderson has her hand on my ass!

So naturally I return the favor, which is my pleasure because she's got a great ass, big but not all blobby, just a good squeeze.

Up top, we got our mouths open and Florence slips me some tongue. Double dittos from me, of course.

And I figure, time to up the ante, so I take the hand that isn't groping her ass and I move it up to her side. And up again -- Yes! First contact! I can feel the stiff ribs of her bra!

I squeeze -- still no feedback from Florence. I squeeze again. She pulls out of our liplock, but only to nibble her way up to my ear and Oh My Gosh! She puts her tongue in my ear and, like, supernova time! I never knew my ear could be so erotic. I am, like, blown away. Without thinking about it I clamp down on her butt cheek and pull her even closer. "Oh, shit," I say, "that was fucking fantastic!"

Well, duh, you can guess what happens next: She pulls away and goes, What am I doing? and We shouldn't and stuff like that.

Right?

Wrong-amundo, Einstein.

What she does is, she laughs a little and says, "Hasn't anyone ever done that to you before?"

I blurt out "No" and then I want to grab the word back and stuff it into my mouth again because I don't want her to think I'm some kind of geek. I mean, I have kissed girls before. Tongue and everything! Only they were just girls and I figure they must not have known all the tricks that a real woman like Florence Henderson would. And I figure she's gonna freak that I'm such a dweeb and all.

Instead, though, she's really cool about it. She, like, raises one eyebrow and cocks her head and goes, "You're serious, aren't you? That's very... interesting."

Which could mean interesting good or could mean interesting weird, but at least I got a 50-50 chance, right?

Then she looks me right in the eye and says, "Are you a virgin?"

Aw, shit. I stare at my toes but I can feel her eyes starin' at me so I just shake my head real slow.

I bet you're surprised, huh? Like, what's a guy like me doing still a virgin, right? Not like I didn't have chances or anything, but I was saving myself for the right time.

Which is looking like it's gonna be right now 'cause Florence kisses me again with some major tongue action and says, do I wanna go down to her cabin? Like, duh!

Next thing I know we're in her place. She tells me to relax while -- I do not lie -- she slips into something more comfortable. Which turns out, when she gets out of the john, to be this thing that looks like all the best pages of the Victoria's Secret catalog. It's all white, which looks cool against her tan. Long kinda gown thing, shaped like a bathrobe but real thin, almost completely transparent. Underneath I can see this lacy thing like one of Madonna's old bustiers (hey, I guess I learned something from all that time watching MTV, huh?). And attached to the bottom are elastic bands holding up sheer white stockings, and she's wearing shiny white shoes with really high heels.