Bronx Park East Ch. 02

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Chapter One is here.

***********

In the summer of 1974, I had been looking for a girlfriend for over a year. I assumed my school, the City College of New York, was the best location to get one. But during my first year, absolutely nothing happened. I didn’t have one date. I admit, I had never had a girlfriend so I really had no idea of how to do it. I’m not a really assertive person, which didn’t help.

Then one day in July a girl just appeared for me; she was a new neighbor. Her name was Lenore Roget, and she had seen me going in and out of the building. At one time she entered the lobby in front of me, but I was too diffident, so I waited a bit until I was sure she was upstairs.

One day I couldn’t avoid her. She got into the elevator on the fourth floor; I was already in it. She admitted to me later that she had wanted to meet me, and then she had me in the right place.

I’ll give myself some credit; I didn’t just fold. I invited her to have pizza with me, and then I asked for another date with her at the movies. I’m not sure where those reserves of boldness came from; I had surprised myself. She was eighteen and I was a year older.

On the evening of following day, a Sunday, I met her in front of our building. She was about five-foot eight and she had dark hair and eyes. I couldn’t help but check out her body as I had the previous day. She wasn’t willowy; she had a nice solidity to her, which I liked. I admit, I had already admired her shapely behind.

On that day she was casually dressed again but perhaps a little bit better. I think her jeans were the same ones she had from Saturday, and she had a short-sleeved purple pull-over top. I’m not up on fabrics, but there was a certain shininess to it. Instead of tennis shoes, she had thick-soled sandals.

Anyway, we had no physical contact at that moment. She had given me the briefest peck of a kiss at our parting on Saturday.

New York is one of the few places you can get away with going on a date via public transit. We took the Bx12, probably for a little over a mile, to the old RKO Fordham theater. (Actually, almost all Bronx theaters were old; they were starting to disappear in fact.)

I had picked the film, a Clint Eastwood/Beau Bridges crime drama called Thunderbolt and Lightfoot set in the modern West. Years later I found out it was the first directing effort by Michael Cimino, who would have huge success and acclaim with The Deer Hunter and then a huge fiasco with Heaven’s Gate.

On the way back, we talked about schools; Lenore was going to Lehman College in the fall. It was fully dark when we got back to Bronx Park East. I had no clue as to what to do next, but Lenore definitely did. It was one of the first times her decisiveness was revealed. She invited me to sit with her on a bench in the park across the street. Then she started a make-out session with me.

I had never kissed anyone before, and now I understood what the big deal about it was. I remembered all the movies in which first kisses are a major romantic threshold to cross. I made no attempt to touch her body; at most I rubbed her arms. Then, she pulled a big surprise on me, the first of many.

She said, “I live here with my Aunt Julia, who is my mother’s sister.” I was going to ask her what was going on with her parents, but she didn’t offer any info. I think she had said that they were divorced. She continued, “My aunt goes downtown to work during the day, and I’m here alone.”

It just seemed like an ordinary conversation. Then, quite casually, she said, “Why don’t you take a day off from work soon – I know it’s just this minimum wage thing – and come up to the apartment with me?”

She must have been following my facial expressions because she gave me an interesting kind of smile which I couldn’t quite interpret. I hadn’t said anything yet, but she had something. “If you’re wondering why I asked you, I thought we could have some beer, smoke a joint, listen to records – you know, have some fun.”

Now I thought I could decipher her smile. I know that I’m being a very naughty girl, but I like it that way. I tried to regain my cool, which I mostly failed at, and I agreed to it while saying as little as possible.

“Okay, just tell me when you’re coming and well, I’ll be ready.” I wasn’t sure what she had to do to get ready, but I knew I’d find out. We set the date for Tuesday, two days away.

*****

I didn’t know if I should be exactly on time or a little late. I decided on the latter but by less than ten minutes. There’s such a thing as social lateness? I’d heard about it but I don’t know if it applied to that situation.

She opened the door and I got my second surprise of that week; she looked entirely different from what I had expected.

I first noticed that she had pinned her hair on the top of her head. Simultaneously, I saw that she was wearing a skirt that was loose-fitting but on the short side; it had some kind of flowery pattern that was mostly blue Etiler escort but had some red and yellow mixed in. Her top was a light-blue short-sleeved one; it was a bit tight on her.

I was struck that she was wearing knee socks, which were white with blue and gray bands around them. He shoes were fairly ordinary brown slip-ons. I didn’t know enough about fashion to judge what kind of cut she would make in that area, but she definitely impacted me.

My instincts told me to play it cool and not make a big deal out of it. In fact, I initially said nothing about her look.

She must have read my expression anyway because as smiled at me as she held the edge of the open door. It was more like a one of her smirks actually. She waved me in. As we stood there she got a comment out of me, which she obviously wanted.

She gestured to herself, moving her hands downward, “So do you like all of this?”

I did, but I didn’t want to overdo it. “It certainly is different.”

I guess she found that complimentary, because she leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the mouth. “Do you want a beer? Stay here and I’ll bring you one. I’ll have one too.” When she came back, I thought for a second that we would sit at the dining room table. Instead, she gestured and said, “Come on, we’ll have these in my room.”

It was a fairly narrow space, and it was at the back of the building. The one window was at the far end. It had an air-conditioner that was not turned on and the top sash was most of the way down. I almost didn’t want to notice this, but her bed was to the left with the head of it next to the far wall by the window. The other side of the room had a desk and shelves and seemed rather cluttered with papers, books and record albums.

Having followed her in and being unsure of how to handle the situation, I went to look out the window. It was a hot and sunny day out there. The view looked over the roofs of a set of stores below, and the street beyond had the elevated train line. Then there were more stores and the unadorned back of another building on Cruger Avenue that probably mirrored the one we were in.

I felt I had to say something just to make conversation, “Doesn’t the noise get to you, I mean, the train?”

“You’d be surprised; you get used to it – even at night, with the window open. After about midnight it only goes through maybe every thirty minutes.”

I thought of her in the bed at night, and I wondered what she wore as she slept. Does she have a nightgown? What does she wear, if anything, underneath it?

She was sitting on the edge of her bed. “Would you like, ah, a joint to go along with your beer?”

“Sure, but it interferes with my ability to have a conversation.” That didn’t seem like the right thing to say.

“Oh, so you want to do some talking?” From her tone she seemed to be joshing with me. “All right, we’ll just have a few puffs.” There was a small side table that was actually under the window, and she had her stuff in a drawer. She lit up one, and we shared it while I stood there awkwardly.

“My Aunt Julia knows I do this, but she doesn’t care. In fact, she smokes it herself.” During this, just to have something to say, I brought up the college newspaper I was on. After a few sentences, she put the joint out in an ashtray. She patted the bed next to her, “It’s okay, sit down.”

With the substances in my body, I felt more mellow, although not quite as much as I would have liked. As soon as I sat down next to her, she asked me a question.

“So what was that R. Crumb cartoon that guy lifted? Joe Blow; it was about that. What was in it?” She was referring to a story I had told her on Saturday, about an arts editor on my paper who had taken the cartoon and reprinted it without permission.

I was reluctant to describe it, because it was about incest. In one panel, for example, the mom was wearing a dominatrix outfit and she asked her teenage son if he masturbates. That was more than I wanted to describe to Lenore, so I changed the focus. “I don’t think anybody would ever find out that he stole it, so it really didn’t matter.”

She nodded, although she probably knew I was evading the question. She said, “I’ve got a few old Crumb comics; I found something that you might find interesting.” It was right on the desk so she went to retrieve it. I thought, this is weird; this chick spends some time finding magazines to show me.

When she got back, she opened it and gave to me. It was a copy of The East Village Other from 1968; I wondered how she had obtained it. I was sitting on the edge of the bed like she was doing. “Look at the page on the right.” Even with the beer and the pot, I had a shock go through my system as I scanned the drawings. I think it was excitement plus embarrassment at the same time.

I caught the title and subtitle on the first pass. Those were “The Phonus Balonus Blues” and “Another tale of life and love in the big city!”

The nine panels depicted one Beşiktaş escort of Crumb’s misbegotten heroes (perhaps some version of himself) who had a huge nose and a sleeveless t-shirt. This guy encountered and chased a girl on the street, a young lady with a miniskirt and ankle boots. She was the usually Crumb heroine with thick thighs and prominent buttocks.

By panel
, she’s turned the corner into an alley. “Another failure,” he said. “My sex life sure is a mess.” In panel #8, he stopped short and his shoes made a screeching noise as they fail to gain traction. In panel #9, he collapsed or perhaps fainted, mostly falling entirely out of the frame. She was bent over in front of him, her skirt flipped up; she had no panties and her cunt was prominently displayed. Her dialogue balloon said, “Surprise!”

Lenore laughed at me. What game is this chick playing with me? Is this an elaborate tease?

She must have guessed what I was thinking, because she continued, “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, but I can almost see the gears turning in your head.” I dared catch her look, “That definitely caught your attention!”

I managed a joke, “It broke the ice, that’s for sure.”

“Look at the caption at the end.” It said, “Aren’t girls unpredictable?”

“Well, maybe we are unpredictable. By the way, what would do if you were that guy, the one in the cartoon?”

“I would have made a serious play for that chick.”

“How would you do it?”

I joked a bit, “I’d grab her by the pussy.”

“That’s a bit, ah, direct.”

“If a girl flashes a guy like that, then she had better be ready for some serious stuff.”

“I wouldn’t be like that; I’m not a cocktease.”

I think she had said more than she had intended. I caught an edge in her, under her bravado, that indicated that she was a bit nervous. Nevertheless, she seemed to have a plan for me and she was going to follow through on it. In fact, she escalated it further.

“When you saw me in my skirt, what did you think?”

“I liked it, I guess.”

“What I meant was, did you wonder what kind of panties I was wearing or if, like the girl the cartoon, I had any at all?”

I could see where this was going. She was making a direct comparison to the cunt-flaunting girl in the cartoon. I thought, Lenore, don’t be like her; don’t mess with my head. I decided to not answer and see what she came up with. This seemed to be entirely her show.

She didn’t hesitate. She took her shoes off and sat at the head of the bed, leaning on the wall. She patted the place on her right. “If you take your shoes off, you can sit right here. Pull down the shade first.”

I think I surprised myself by doing just that. Now I was sitting very close to her, close enough to catch the aroma coming from her hair. I knew she had the same substances in her bloodstream as I did, and I wondered how those were affecting her. I was on the side of the bed away from the floor, which gave me a slightly trapped feeling.

She put her arm around me and kissed me. A make-out session; I could handle that and we started one. After some of that she stopped; from her expression I got the feeling she was getting her nerve up for something. I wasn’t wrong.

She said, “Have you thought about me in the last few days?”

“Of course I have.”

“What I meant was, when you were alone, maybe in your bed at night? I admit I have, just once so far.”

It occurred to me that something sexual would happen in this bed, and quite soon. I told her the truth, “Well, I did too, once.” I had imagined her on the raggedy couch in the newspaper office at the college. She had taken her jeans off but she kept her sandals on. I pictured it with her on top, straddling me. That was more than I wanted to think about now that she was right next to me in reality.

She put her face against the side of mine. She quietly said, “We could do that together, I mean to each other. It would be a good way to get started, if you get what I mean. It could be right here, right now.”

Wow, she moves fast; she’s propositioning me. I didn’t have any smooth moves now. I think my voice seemed thick as I said, “So how will it go?”

She said, “Like this.” She pulled her blouse up and reached back to unhook her bra. It was white and looked very conventional, like something one might find at Sears. Then I saw her medium-sized, now exposed, breasts.

I had never seen bare tits before except in a magazine. I must have been impressed because I had a full erection at this point. She fondled her own nipples and said in the throaty tone, “Please touch them, kiss them; they’re very sensitive.”

She was on her knees in a kneeling position. I sat up and sort of squatted so I could do as she asked with her breasts. I was just reacting now as any young guy would. There was a dream-like quality to it. Underneath, I felt uneasy that she had gone off in that direction so quickly.

Then I thought, well Taksim escort it’s a new era; casual sex is very common. Except, I didn’t want it to be too casual. I wanted something more serious.

I figured I had the go-ahead to do whatever I wanted, so I put my right hand under her skirt and into her panties. At first I was in the back and I squeezed her ass. Then she said, “It’s okay, sweetie, you can move to the front.” I did, and my hand was on her pubic hair.

She obviously liked what was going on. She started moaning, “Oh, God, this is all so nice.” After some of this, she seemed to have an inspiration, or maybe she had planned it that way. She said, “I don’t think we can, you know, co-ordinate things and do it all simultaneously. I want to do you first.”

I was struck by the sudden change of direction and the sort of clinical way she was describing things. There wasn’t any time to ponder this because she said, “Get up, kneel like I am.” When I had done that, she unbuckled my pants and unzipped them. She reached in and took out my erect cock.

I thought she might compliment me, but she didn’t. She seemed to swallow hard as if she was getting her courage up again. “Paul, when you masturbate, how do you do it?”

That seemed like a rather personal question but I answered it, “Well, you know, I pull down on the base with my left hand and stroke with the other one.”

“I can do that. I have some Vaseline on the table here so it won’t be a dry rub.”

She squatted down like I had done before. She seemed to get the hang of it pretty quickly, although I couldn’t know for sure whether or not she had ever done this before. But I was beyond thinking now. I said the usual obvious things that people say in those situations. “Lenore, your hands feel so nice on cock. Please do that, please jerk me.”

I was now in a very aroused state, but she was calmly looking at me as if this was quite an interesting spectacle. At one point I put my hand down on her hers so I could guide her and get the rhythm I wanted.

It did take long. I had to tell her, “Lenore, you’re going to make me come!”

“I know, I can feel the tension in you.” I knew I’d spurt all over the bed, but that wasn’t my problem.

When I did come, a substantial stream came out and spattered on the bed covers. She said, “Wow, look at that.” She kept stroking me during the resolution phase. Then I fell back on the bed, breathing heavily. I didn’t apologize for the mess I had made; she had to have anticipated that.

Lenore demonstrated her directness again. “Okay, it’s my turn now. Are you up for this?”

I managed to say, “Of course, whenever.”

She just had to explain it, “When I – ah, masturbate – I can often do it with just my fingers if I’m in the mood, and I think I am now. Sometimes I do put things up there to help out.”

I asked her, “Like what?”

She seemed amused, “Like my hairbrush, or even carrots. Bananas work well too. Today, it’s going to be your fingers.” Before I could respond, she sat back against the wall and pulled her skirt up. “Here are those panties you were wondering about.”

Those were blue with white dots. They weren’t little panties; they were of a generous cut. After a moment, she said, “What’s really important is what is under them.” She quickly removed them and dropped them on the floor. As she spread her legs, she said, “Ever see a pussy before?”

“Yeah, sure.”

She laughed, “Magazines don’t count.”

I joked, “Like hell, they do count.”

“I assume you like mine.”

It seemed like a very nice pussy, because it was right there, bare, and I had been invited to fondle it. In that era, most girls didn’t shave, and she had a considerable amount of hair around it.

She was back at directing events. “I’ll start, and you watch. You’ll figure it out fast.” Yeah, just like you did.

She put both hands into her crotch. I could see that one was working her clitoris while the other went in and out of her vagina. She still had the wits to ask, “You do know what a clitoris is, right?”

“Yes, I’m not that naive.”

She soon put my right hand inside herself while both of her hands remained with her clit, “It’s extremely sensitive, so I’ll take care of that.” In the first few moments, she was still lucid enough to talk, “I bet you don’t know how much girls masturbate.”

“I’ll take your word on that; you’re the expert.”

“Is this what you’d have done to the girl in the cartoon?”

I thought, no, I’d try to fuck her standing up against the wall, but that seemed like a bit much at this point.

Then she gave herself over the moment. She did quite a lot of moaning, and she moved her legs and body around on the bed. I did hear, “Paul, you really have a knack for this.” That was a nice compliment, and I briefly felt proud of myself.

It took her less time to come than I had expected. She made quite a big deal out of it. Her legs spread wider; then her hips came up off the bed. I think she bumped her head against the wall. She was very loud with whatever she was yelling.

She collapsed down on her back. It seemed neither one of us knew what to say to each other. Then she lay down on her side, facing me. “Come over here, be next to me.”

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