My Year with Michelle

This story follows

Ch. 01

, but it also is a sequel to

Judy's Late Coming of Age

. That story explained why she is so deeply involved in the affair between Paul and Michelle. I decided not to include it directly in the series. She narrated her own story, but Paul narrates the other chapters including this one.

These stories fill in the gap between

My Summer with Nora.Ch. 09

(October 1974) and

Donna in the Senior Year Ch. 01

(September 1976). The character of Charlotte mentioned in that chapter has been written out of this storyline.

The Salient

was the college newspaper he belonged to during that period.

*******

Prologue

For a period during my sophomore and into my junior years, I felt like my romantic relationships were as good as any college guy could ever hope to have them. Not only had I quickly replaced my first-ever girlfriend with a new one, but I was also fooling around with that woman's best friend, Judy Weinberg.

We even had a few threesomes, something that I had thought only happened in porn movies. In my more insecure moments, I thought, "This is too good to last." I was right, of course, but I was still surprised when it ended.

It turned out that Michelle left me as abruptly as Nora had done, except a year went by before that happened. Again, a girlfriend left me for another, older and more financially successful guy. And again, the surprise felt like a betrayal to me.

Maybe I was too immature to accept that college romances often had short lifespans. In my mind, my relationships with Nora and Michelle were open-ended, meant to last for an indefinite time period. The two women had a different conception of what was going on. They reserved the option of leaving when the circumstances were best for them.

Probably I got over-confident because I had picked up my new girlfriend so soon after Nora dumped me.

Maybe this isn't so difficult after All.

She readily agreed to join

The Salient

with me. Everybody there, including Nora herself, was surprised when I showed up with a new girlfriend just four months after bringing in the previous one.

Nora took me out in the hall around that time and asked me, "So it that your new paramour? You sure work fast."

I was feeling a little cocky and I wanted to prove my pick-up artist bona fides. I still had something of a grudge against my old girlfriend. "That's right. I found her right here in Finley."

"So where is she from?"

"I'm sure you've heard of Bayside."

"Ah, she's one of those Bayside princesses." Nora had some social insecurities about growing up in working-class Maspeth, but she rarely acknowledged them. Bayside was so far east that it was right on the city line with suburban Nassau County.

I teased her. "And you, my dear, will always be a queen, the Queen of Queens is what I'd call you."

******

Saturday Night

Michelle gave me a big warning signal by almost breaking up with me during the summer of 1975. Instead of just accepting it, I procrastinated for a couple of weeks waiting for her to finalize it. She did take me back for a couple of months, and I felt a false relief that it had been a temporary setback.

In the 1970s, there was still genuinely affordable housing available in New York. Michelle was more ambitious than I was, and she made a decent amount of money working as a typesetter and layout artist. Yet she still went to school full-time and had a position on the staff of the college newspaper I had invited her to join.

She even had a used car, like Nora did, except all of her money came from legitimate jobs. I didn't mind having girlfriends with their own apartments and cars while I had none. It didn't occur to me that, sooner or later, I would look like a loser to them and they would find better prospects as lovers.

Michelle's apartment was just a few blocks west of Court Square in Long Island City, Queens. She had the first floor of a very old two-story wooden house. There was a machine shop to the left and a scrap yard on the other side.

The flat roof and vestigial cornice of the building made it look like a part of a movie set representing Dodge City or Tombstone, Arizona. Of course, Midtown Manhattan across the river ended any similarity to the Old West.

However, one couldn't actually see Manhattan because the tall blank wall of another building blocked the view of anything out of the back. There was a door to a small rear yard that got virtually no sunshine. That was perhaps the biggest drawback of the apartment, but Michelle sensibly pointed out that having a view as an amenity would have likely increased the rent quite a bit.

The interior had a railroad flat set-up, with a parlor in the front, a bedroom in the middle, and a kitchen at the rear. The bathroom was in the far right corner at the back. At some point, a window had been added to the bedroom wall facing the scrap yard, and an air conditioner had been installed in it.

Michelle had grown up in a much more conventional single-family house in Bayside at the opposite end of the borough. Maybe that's why she chose that old wooden house over an apartment in a building with many other units.

*****

In August 1975, about ten months after I had met her, I caught Michelle cheating on me. When I say "caught," I mean I actually witnessed it without being noticed myself. I should have instantly broken up with her, but I foolishly never mentioned it.

Then, equally foolishly, I took her back a couple of weeks later when she wanted me to return. One has to be twenty years old like I was to overlook a huge red flag like that. I paid the price for my mistake when she broke up with me for good in November.

That July I had spent a month traveling out West with some of my friends from

The Salient.

I didn't know how much trouble Michelle could get into while I was gone.

One warm Saturday evening she had a party at her apartment. There were only three guests, Judy, me, and one of Michelle's old classmates from Bayside High named Bert. He was the guy who supplied the drugs, a batch of marijuana that Michelle had baked into brownies.

Michelle was far from being a burnout case; she indulged in pot a few times per year and, as far as I knew, always socially, never alone. For that gathering, Judy sat on the couch, while the other three of us sat in a circle on the floor.

After we had consumed our first brownie, Bert pulled out a joint and lit it. I attempted to make a joke about an "after-dinner aperitif," but it fell flat and no one even smiled at it.

That Bert person had spent a couple of years at Queensborough Community College out in Bayside and now he had an apprenticeship with the carpenters' union. He was a big, tall guy; he seemed friendly enough and at one point I asked him how I could get an apprenticeship myself. The idea of going into construction perhaps seemed more interesting than whatever I could get based on my liberal arts B.A.

Bert said, "It's really tough, in fact almost impossible, to get in there without having some connections." Apprenticeships were highly desired because they led to the better-paying, more stable jobs on big projects. There was a lower layer of non-union workers who struggled in smaller jobs, sometimes getting paid off the books.

Then he continued, "Besides, even if you did get ib, you'd have to do things like lift doors into place, install sheetrock, and such."

"So, why is that a problem?"

"Have you ever tried to lift a door?"

"Well, no, not yet." He was referring to my physical build. At that time I was quite skinny, about 125 pounds, but I had never thought of myself as weak, merely slender. I saw that Michelle was giving me a bemused look. But I knew she often liked to tease me and I thought that was part of her charm.

Plus, she looked great that night. She was wearing a cute little red skirt with a flowered pattern, a sleeveless white top, and chunky tan sandals. Her hair was pinned up in that careless way she sometimes preferred. I heard her say, right after she sat down, "I hope everybody likes my hot-weather hot girl look tonight."

I assumed that comment was mostly aimed at me. It all seemed great, a fun pot party with my pretty college girlfriend in the center of it. For once life was really sweet.

Michelle had a Lovin' Spoonful record on. Yeah, I'd found my summer kitty all right.

Go out and find a girl.

That had seemed easy; she was the first one I had attempted to pick up after Nora left, and it had gone so smoothly.

As we smoked the joint, the portion I had eaten earlier started to filter into my bloodstream. I had learned that the effects of the drug could vary a lot depending on the sample. Over the previous year, I had some pleasurable experiences, but I also had cases of severe paranoia and other undesirable side effects.

Whatever was in that batch was potent but smooth. Michelle said, "This is some really good shit," and Bert answered, "Yeah, in fact they call this Jamaican Cream Pie."

I said, "Okay, a brand name, like that stuff called Montana Mind-Fucker." I had heard that from a friend and I thought it was pretty funny. However, no one noticed what I had said at that time either.

One consistent effect I got from pot was that it hampered, sometimes severely, my ability to hold a conversation. The more stoned I got the less coherent my speech became, and the less ability I had to understand what someone else was saying.

That didn't seem to be the case with Michelle and Bert. They were intently chatting about what seemed to be old gossip from earlier in their lives. Since I didn't know anyone from Bayside, the content of their talk was incomprehensible to me with or without the drug in my system.

Maybe Judy would have something to contribute. She was directly opposite me, sitting in the middle of the sofa, but she looked dazed. She wasn't much of a drinker or drug user as far as I knew, and perhaps she was having trouble coping with the amount she had consumed in her brownie.

I looked back to Michelle, who was sitting to my left. Whatever she and Bert were saying engaged their full attention. I noticed her position on the floor. She had splayed her legs out and I could see up to her pink panties.

Oh, my wanton English major.

Marijuana was usually an aphrodisiac for me, and my cock sprung up inside my pants. I wished that it was a private party for just the two of us. I could easily imagine my next moves. Licking her pussy would be a great place to start.

Then I must have gotten enough brain cells to function to fully grasp the scene. First I saw that Michelle was not talking to me at all; she wasn't even looking at me. Then it was obvious that Bert could see her panties too. In fact, he was trying to look at her face as they talked but he kept glancing down at her crotch.

She had to be aware of what she was doing. She was smiling at him with that come-fuck-me look I knew well. I recalled our first meeting in the Finley cafeteria. As she walked away she had looked back at me and saw that I was watching her leave. "Oh, so you obviously like what you are seeing." She had a similar smile back then.

Okay, so she was just flirting,

at least that's what I told myself. I tried to get back into that happy stoned groove I had been in, but by then I felt agitated. I had no plan, no template about how to handle a situation like that. For one thing, I assumed Bert knew she was my girlfriend but I couldn't confirm that.

Michelle got up and put another Lovin' Spoonful song on, the one about the magic in a young girl's heart. When she sat down her legs were spread even more carelessly than before. I chuckled as it occurred to me that there was magic in Michelle's heart

and

body.

I hoped she would notice me, wink at me, blow me a kiss, or do something else to acknowledge that I was sitting a couple of feet from her. Instead, she kept going on her long-winded dialogue with Bert. Bits of conversation came through. I heard "Alley Pond Park" which seemed to be connected with a tale of nighttime youthful debauchery.

I considered some way of breaking in, especially as a way of indicating my long-term relationship with Michelle. My mind wandered to one of the song lyrics,

makes you feel happy like an old-time movie.

Well, which movie? How about "The Blue Angel?" That seemed to be witty. But how would I fit it into that gabfest they had going? Would Bert even know what I was talking about?

To hell with Bert. It was rude to ignore me and Judy too, wasn't it? Although, it did seem that Michelle was doing the majority of the talking. Never a shy person, she seemed to be running her mouth off that night.

Judy, that was the answer; I'd talk to her. I got up from the floor -- how long had I been there? -- and went over to sit next to her on the couch. At first, I noticed her body. She was wearing a sleeveless top and tight jeans. What a plump, juicy little package she was. Then I saw her facial expression, both numb and glum.

I said, "Hey, how are you doing, are you all right?"

She shook her head, "This thing tonight is just boring the hell out of me." She had never been much of a party girl.

I took a chance to get her opinion. I leaned in and whispered, "Notice that she's showing her panties to Bert."

Judy rolled her eyes and whispered back, "Well you know how Michelle is."

"Do I? I never knew this about her."

"Then you're learning now."

Judy had been Michelle's best friend since long before they had met me. Now I wanted to be conversational, and I thought about Bert's apprenticeship remarks. I tried to tell Judy about my failed attempt to get a stock associate's job at a Bronx supermarket. The manager didn't think I had the strength to unload pallets from the delivery trucks, and he rejected me on the spot.

That straightforward event had happened less than two years earlier but I was unable to explain the plot line. I had the uneasy thought that I had lost track of time and maybe I was rambling on too much. I stopped abruptly and then Judy responded. Well, sentences were coming out of her mouth but I couldn't unscramble their meaning.

I had to say, "I have no idea of what you're talking about." I smiled to indicate that I found that funny.

There was another eye-rolling expression from her.

What an idiot;

is that what she meant?

Judy was my "side girl", which Michelle knew all about but it didn't bother her. I then thought, let's do some girlfriend-boyfriend stuff. I whispered to her, "While they're yammering, we should go into the backyard."

"Why?"

Why! I said, "We'll think of something."

She looked genuinely puzzled; perhaps the pot was the cause of that confusion. I knew my own thinking was quite fuzzy at that point.

I tried a more explicit approach. I whispered, "Wouldn't it be great if Bert got lost and you and I and Michelle had one of our patented threesomes?" Mentioning sex was one thing I could be articulate about.

She looked down at my pants; my erection was back and visibly pushing up the fabric. She said, "If you're really feeling that horny, go back there yourself and jerk off."

Beyond the nastiness of that -- uncharacteristic of the Judy I was acquainted with -- there was something else I didn't get. I knew she loved sex, and I was pretty sure I was the only one who was aware of that through first-hand experience.

Several months had passed since she had requested I bang her -- right on that sofa in fact -- and now she was acting like I was a stranger on the subway murmuring dirty words into her ear.

I said, "What's bothering you tonight?"

"I don't know, I've just been depressed."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No, really, it has nothing to do with you."

That wasn't quite what I had asked. I made one more appeal based on sex. "Maybe you'll feel better if we go back there and you fluff me with your sweet little ass." What I meant was that she would rub her bare behind on my bare crotch until I ejaculated on her. "I'll make it worth your while by going down on you afterwards."

She had no verbal response; just a shake of the head. If I had gotten the slightest feeling of warmth from her, I was prepared to get physical right then and there. I wondered how far I would go before taking her into the backyard. Michelle would understand and I didn't care what that lug Bert thought.

But something was wrong with my ladies that night. They weren't their usual enthusiastic selves, enthusiastic for me that is.

There was alcohol available at our party too, although no one was drinking it yet. The coffee table had been moved over, and various bottles were sitting on it. Most of it was beer, placed there by Michelle, but there was also flavored rum which was Bert's donation to that event.

I said to Judy, "Would you like a drink?" No, she didn't; with a flick of her hand, she dismissed the offer.

Then I tried joshing with her, "Rum is popular with sorority girls, isn't it?"

"How would I know anything about that?" There were no sororities at City College.

"Of course, I was just, ah..." Usually she'd enjoy some silly riffing on a topic like that, but at that time she seemed determinedly literal-minded. Being depressed brought out a grumpy side of her.

I wished she'd confide in me about what was bugging her. At least it would give me something to talk about during that disappointing hot-weather party.

I started drinking rum, the music kept playing, and Michelle and Bert kept -- well not quite doing the same as they had been doing. They were leaning in more and talking more quietly. With the music going I couldn't hear them. Had Michelle turned up the volume or was that just a groundless suspicion?

There was a flurry of activity when Judy got up to call a cab to take her home. I glanced at my watch; it was just after eleven PM. No, she shouldn't be riding the IND subway at that hour. When she was gone we three remaining partygoers went back to our positions.

I was the odd man out there. But Michelle was supposed to be my girl. Technically she was one of two, but surely she was the main one. All she had to do was get up on the couch and put her arms around me.

Hey Paul, how're you doing tonight?

Such a simple way to make me happy.

I gave it a few minutes, and then I took the bottle and my glass and went into the bedroom. As I lay on the bed I pondered the mistake of mixing marijuana and alcohol. Yes, it was a sure way to get fucked-up, but it negated the better qualities of both substances.

Had I stayed with the pot, I imagined I could go out in the yard and then masturbate. The drug gave me intense orgasms, with or without a woman to assist. But the booze was dulling that desire. I thought I was on my second drink but I couldn't be sure. Never mind; I finished it and poured another.

The door to the living room was open and the music came through it. Blue Öyster Cult: one of those bands that everyone knew but no one listed as their favorite. What was "Harvester of Eyes" about and what was it trying to say? Probably Michelle could tell me if only I could ask her.

I stayed on the bed and thought about the memorable threesome combinations that Michelle, Judy, and I had enacted there several times. That night, for the first time, the girls had let me down.

The Lovin' Spoonful were back on the stereo.

We'll dance until the morning 'til there's just you and me.

Well, just Michelle and Bert, no Judy and certainly no Paul.

Maybe I should go out there and show myself.

But a couple of things stopped me. I had been in the bedroom for a while and Michelle hadn't come in to retrieve me.