Bronx Par East

Chapter 4 is

here.

This is in the summer of 1974. The two main characters are students who will be going to different colleges but they live in the same building. Lenore has been instructing her boyfriend on sexual techniques. They use her apartment when her aunt is at work.

*****

I was aware of what Lenore's next steps might be for me the next time I was invited to her apartment. I was excited, but I was more than a bit nervous about the anticipated outcome.

To me, it seemed best that we have lunch first and get comfortable before we went up to her place. I was sitting in the same pizza shop and at the same table where we had our first date.

Initially, I didn't recognize her when she came in. For one thing, she was wearing sunglasses, which she had never done before, and her hair was pinned up. It was her clothes that really threw me. She had a dark-blue top held up by straps; quite a bit of her midriff was showing, navel and all. Her skirt was loose-fitting but quite short; it was light gray with white dots. About the only item I had seen before were her white sandals.

I had never known her to show so much skin in public before. My first thought was,

look at this hot babe; she certainly is brazen.

Then,

oh my God, it's Lenore.

It was difficult to associate her present appearance with the modest-looking girl I had taken here a few weeks earlier.

For a moment she stood near the doorway and looked around. It seemed her eyes must have passed over me a couple of times but she didn't acknowledge my presence. I was just about to greet her when some intuition made me stop; I figured I would play along with whatever game she was doing.

For a moment she turned around and shook her ass back and forth so that her skirt swished around. A thought about her hit me very hard and very suddenly.

What kind of panties does she have on under that cute skirt? Maybe she doesn't have any at all, and there's nothing but air between her and the grungy pizzeria floor.

My fantasy was that I would flip up her clothes and find out.

Then she wandered over towards me but she seemed to have no clear direction to go in. My feelings of lust for her were very strong. And yet it was if was she was another person, and I was actually a bit diffident about talking to her. I had already brought over a second slice and drink in anticipation of her arrival. I decided to capitalize on that.

"Ah miss, I've got an extra slice here. You can have it if you want." I knew using the term "miss" was a mistake, but probably not a fatal one.

"Is somebody talking to me?"

"Yes, I am."

Now she finally looked down at me. "You think I can be had for a mere slice of pizza?"

"I didn't even mean to imply that. Take it to another table if you wish."

"No, I think I'll have it right here. Oh, thanks, I guess there is really is a free lunch."

As she sat down, she lifted her sunglasses to the top of her head. It was a bit reassuring to be able to see her eyes. When she lifted her slice to her mouth, she licked the underside of it, then slowly took a bite out of the end. I was fascinated by this and I was frankly staring at her. It seemed like a good time to introduce myself, "Hi, I'm Paul."

"Well, I'm Lenore. You live around here?"

I decided to be vague about it, "Ah yeah, just down the street."

"Me too. So, do you have any chicks in your life?"

Even in this early stage of my life, I knew that was always a tricky question. "Yeah, I've got some things going on."

" 'Some things going on?' I think I get it."

I didn't like the look she was giving me. Even though I knew it was an act, I thought she was showing haughtiness and disdain.

I'm obviously way out of your league. You should be grateful I'm even talking to you.

We had a few aimless minutes eating our lunch. I remember her saying, "Do you think this outfit makes me look a bit 'fast?' " I thought,

Lenore, you're faster than a Metroliner.

Before I could form a response, she went on, "So, do you like it, I mean my outfit?"

That was another question I had trouble with. Should I compliment a girl, or pretend I was above it all? The latter was supposed to convey that I had a lot of other options out there.

I went with, "It is sort of interesting."

"Just interesting?" That was the other side of the problem; she might get annoyed if you didn't compliment her. You couldn't win with a question like that.

At this point that I noticed a guy of about twenty-five at a table a couple of rows down. He was obviously assessing Lenore. She noticed him too, and she sort of winced at him. He just smiled back.

She said in a low voice, "That guy is undressing me with his eyes."

I thought,

well, so am I.

Soon after that, she gestured for me to lean in. "You know what, let's go up to my place and share a joint, have some kicks."

"All right, that sounds good."

She wagged a finger at me, "But don't get any smart ideas. We're just friends, right?"

Before I could respond, she was up and going out; I trailed after her. Out on Lydig Avenue, I started to get the implications of this game. It was as if I was so inconsequential, harmless even, that she had no wariness about bringing me upstairs. Decades later I would hear the word "orbiter." It was a guy who was always hanging around some girl but not getting any sex from her. It certainly wasn't a term of respect.

Along the way, she prattled on about something. It seemed to be gossip she knew about her former classmates at Columbus High School. I caught the name of her best friend, Bernice, whom I had already meet.

Once we got up to the familiar fourth-floor apartment, we went into her room to get the pot-smoking paraphernalia. She sat at the head of her bed with an ashtray, leaning on the wall. I was sitting on the edge.

"Go ahead, lean on the other wall; make yourself comfortable."

That put me sideways, at a right angle to her. She was only a couple of feet from me, and I caught her aroma, a mixture of perfume I think and her own natural scent. It was very heady stuff.

We passed the joint and the ashtray back and forth. I didn't want too much; I figured I'd have to keep my wits about me today, regardless of what was going to happen. After a brief period, she put it aside. My guess about her was she was a bit stoned, and my assessment of myself was that I was just far enough above the drug that I could still hold a conversation.

The next thing she said was, "So, what's been going on with you recently?"

I wasn't sure what she was getting at, "I don't know; not much."

"I bet, not much." She took a moment to think, "I've been around enough to know what guys are like. You're all pussy crazy. If you're not getting it all the time, you can't keep your hands off yourselves."

I remembered what she had said about what girls did in the same situation. But I was wary of this Lenore who wasn't really Lenore. I wasn't sure if I even liked her.

She launched into a lengthy tirade against me. "All of those young ladies you've seen at your school, in the street; they're in their mini-skirts, their halter tops, their shorts and knee socks and their boots, their delectable little panties. You want to get with them all, from every angle -- but you can't. So you go home and do what you have to do."

I was struck by the amount of detail she was using. Maybe it was an elaborate joke, but it also felt like a direct attack on me. I tried to be as casual as possible, indifferent even, "And you seem to be a little cock-tease."

"Oh, you don't know me. In fact, I'm going to prove you wrong." She moved over to where I was. I have noticed since that when women are making some sexual proposition, they will often use a quiet, confidential tone even though no one else was around to overhear them.

Her face was right next to mine when she said, "I will prove I'm not a tease. We can have some fun. I'll get myself off and you can watch and you can get yourself off too. How does that sound?"

It actually sounded a bit peculiar, because we had already done that a couple of weeks earlier. Yet I was really taken by her and she obviously knew it. I noted her dark eyes, her smooth skin, and especially, her juicy body.

I said, "Why should I do that?" I truly couldn't figure out what her game was.

"Why? This is why." She lifted her blouse and I saw a strapless bra that was orange, of all things. When that was done unbuckling that, she moved back, lifted her skirt, and spread her legs. "I know you were wondering what kind of panties I'm wearing." Women seemed to have a knack for discerning guys' thoughts.

Her panties were lacy white ones. "I don't think I need these for very long." When she took them off, she threw them at me and by reflex I caught them.

"Ever see a pussy before? Magazines don't count." I had seen hers before, only twice if counting by calendar days.

She said, "Here, I've got some accessories for both of us." She got them from her side table next to the window. The first one was a white tube that looked like a vibrator but it wasn't.

Would that be called a dildo?

"And this is for you," A tube of Vaseline landed next to me; I knew what that was for. Meanwhile, Lenore was already vigorously going at herself with her toy and one of her hands. "Well, get to it already. If you don't have an erection by now, you must be dead."

I did have one. I was nineteen-years-old and I had a girl pleasuring herself right next to me. Biology took over.

"You can come into my panties if you want to; I'm fine with that." I considered doing just that out of some kind of spite. This whole event seemed bizarre, but almost without thinking I took down my pants and grabbed my cock.

She said, "That's it honey; show me what you can do." My urge was to have sex with her immediately; her pussy was gaping open.

No, bide your time; she'll come through for me eventually.

Maybe I shouldn't have been surprised that she came first, doing the dramatic response I had seen before. When it was my turn, I indeed put her panties over myself and shot off into them. This scenario did excite me, and the noises I made reminded me of whatever Jim Morrison was doing in the middle of "L.A. Woman."

Then we were leaning against the wall, not saying anything. When I couldn't stand that any longer, I got my clothes together and went over to the window. When I pulled the shade up, I saw a train passing on the elevated trestle a half-block away.

The people on that have no idea what is going on in here.

After a moment, Lenore moved over, reached out, and touched my arm. "Are you all right? Sit down here on the edge of the bed." Now it seemed she was fully back to her real self, so I sat down.

It appeared that she was getting up her nerve for something. It was odd how she could go from being so bold to being almost shy. What she said was, "You may be wondering why I staged this little stunt, besides just the fun of goofing on you a bit. The thing is that -- well young guys can be a bit too fast and I wanted to be sure you'd have some stamina for me when we . . ."

She left the sentence unfinished. "Stamina for what?" I knew what she had meant.

She confirmed it for me. "You must know what it is. I mean, I think you know what a hair-trigger a young guy can be one."

I decided to call her on it, "You seem to know a lot about young guys. Did you read it in

Cosmopolitan

or something?"

"Oh, that was a good one, but you're not going to catch me on that. Come on, let's go to the couch in the living room." I had no idea why that was necessary, but I trusted her and I went.

"Would you like a drink?" I declined; I thought I had enough stuff in my bloodstream already.

When we were sitting there, she cuddled and nuzzled with me. It seemed she wanted to make me feel more relaxed, which she succeeding in doing. Then it was time to get down to business. Three of Aunt Julia's porn magazines were on the coffee table. Lenore was so methodical that she had put pieces of paper in as bookmarks.

She opened them up so that three photo spreads were visible. All of them showed the same thing: girls getting fucked. I was starting to get the insight that porn always showed variations of certain basic things. Even the kinkiest stuff was ultimately repetitive.

Yet, it was still interesting and it certainly was still a novelty for me. The one on the left showed a girl with reddish-brown hair sitting on what appeared to be a pull-out bed. She was holding a flute, and I assumed that the slightly older guy standing next to her was her music instructor. What caught my attention was her really nice pink shorts.

Then they went through the process of cock sucking and cunt rubbing -- she did the latter for herself. They went for cowgirls, both the regular and the reverse kind. After that, they had rear-entry sex. One of the photos was an impressive one taken from behind them. It showed exactly how he was nailing her cunt.

At that stage, the porn girl had taken her shorts and panties off, but the rest of her clothes were still on, including her ankle socks and her purple sneakers. She was enjoying it all. If she was faking it, she deserved a porn Tony Award, if there was such a thing. (Much later I found out about the Adult Video News awards.)

The second set had the same basic plot. A strawberry-blonde girl was getting it from a man who seemed to be her professor. She had a short blue skirt and white panties. When the latter were down around her ankles, I saw her thick pubic bush. They went through a similar routine with a couple of cowgirls. Then rear entry sex was followed by a missionary style.

The notable aspect of the last set was the guy involved in it. He was younger than the other two and I guessed he was a boyfriend rather than an authority figure. There was a bit of college-boy awkwardness about him that I identified with myself.

He certainly had a nice red-haired girlfriend. There were some impressive photos of missionary style sex, including another one of those close-ups from the rear. I could see exactly how he had slotted his cock into her vagina. She had lost her jeans and panties, but her blue and white knee socks were still on. Her legs were raised up and out.

A stray thought came to me: this guy doesn't have to masturbate so much now -- not when he's got this hot chick to bang instead. I was feeling envious of all three men when I looked over at Lenore. An idea that had been in the back of my mind now come to the front.

I'm going to lose my virginity, right now, right here on this couch.

I had always wondered what the girl would be like, and now she was right here sitting next to me. She had even worked out, I assumed, exactly how it was going to go.

If she had a plan, then I figured that I should go along with it. She hadn't let me down yet. For quite a while, we just held each other and smooched on the couch. Since she had her clothes on but was now lacking any underwear beneath them, I had no qualms about feeling her up everywhere.

I remembered something, "You know, I don't have any rubbers on me."

"That's okay, I had an IUD inserted back in May."

That was about a month before she had met me.

Did that mean she had gotten the birth control worked out first and then found a guy to go along with it?

I didn't see the point of worrying about that now.

After a while, she pointed to one of the cowgirl photos, the one in with of the red-head on top of her professor. She seemed to be having a wonderful time with it. Her hair was whipped back and he was holding her hips.

She said, "So how does that seem to you?"

What could I say? "It looks pretty good to me."

"Then, sweetie-pie, let's get to it."

At that, Lenore got on top and straddled me. I guided myself in, and a few seconds later I thought,

this was worth the wait.

My next thought was perhaps my last lucid one.

Lenore, my hot little cherry-popping sweetheart, you are a genius for these things.

I felt incredibly lucky to have such an imaginative girlfriend.

She said, "Talk dirty to me, please."

I was holding her ass, and she got her breasts close enough for me to kiss her nipples. I said things that were not particularly clever, but I suspected few people could concentrate during sex. "God, Lenore, you're such a sweet piece of ass; please fuck me hard."

She wasn't that clever either, "Oh yes, I'm fucking you as hard as I can."

As we got further into it, I was pushing up into her as she was pushing down on me. Our bodies seemed to be colliding perfectly. When she came, she put her arms out and leaned back so that I had to hold her around her waist. A couple of minutes later I ejaculated up into her. She was still moving on me, and I made sure I looked at her face. In some part of my mind, I felt it was important to put her expression into my memory. She was beaming at me.

For a while after that we just sat there with me still inside her, savoring the moment. It seemed like we were there a long time, just holding each other. Then, she leaned back and pointed to the magazines. Now she seemed talkative again. "So which of these red-headed chicks is the prettiest?"

I pointed to her and said, "The prettiest is the dark-haired girl right here."

"Oh, good answer. I see I've got you well-trained."

I joshed with her, "I think the term is pussy-whipped."

"Well, pussy-whipped is better than no pussy at all, wouldn't you say?"

She uncoupled from me and sat down to my left on the couch. Some of my semen came out of her and ran down her thighs. She noticed it and said, "Oh, my." Probably she was surprised herself.

"Don't worry, take my handkerchief." Something similar had happened when she had blown me the previous week. I complimented myself by thinking,

I suppose she inspires me to shoot big loads.

I said, "I really like your outfit. You should wear this more often."

"I will for you, but I felt a bit uncomfortable out in public with it."

"Brazen is the word that came to my mind when you walked in. Although, I didn't recognize you at first."

"When I walked over there, I had a couple of guys really checking me out, like that one in the pizza shop. Although, when I was with you, I felt a bit better."

"Why? Do I seem like a white knight?"

"You'd be surprised. Guys sort of won't mess with another guy's girl. Not unless they are looking for trouble."

I had a hard time imagining other men perceiving me as a threat. Lenore went on, "But I know you like it, so I promise I'll wear it again. It's just that, when we are outside, I'll wear a shirt on top of it."

"I hope without the underwear like you are now."

She knew I was kidding her, "Oh no, I'm not that far over the line."

I had a less than admirable thought. I liked the idea of walking around with her and having other men envy me. I had the unjustified idea, perhaps, that I had earned it because of my earlier loneliness.

In a little while, I got my pants up and went to get a beer. After I had gotten one, I went into her room on some impulse. Perhaps I just wanted to look out the window. The world was going about its business out there. I saw trucks making deliveries on Lydig Avenue.

It's been a big day for me, but I don't feel that different

-- not that I wasn't pleased.

Could any of those people on Lydig imagine what has happened up here?

Lenore had gotten her own beer, and she sat down on her bed. When I stepped back I glanced at her far wall. Somehow, I had never noticed the framed poster that was up there. It was of a painting I had seen before.

"Is that the Tower of Babel?"

"It sure is. It's by Pieter Bruegel the Elder, 1563." I supposed that if she had put it up there, then she would know who had created it.