I lived in a flop house in Greenwich Village before it became trendy to do so. It was a six story walk up with five rooms per story. My place was on the fourth floor. Almost all of us were aspiring artists of some kind and it felt like home to me shortly after moving in.
On my floor there were two male dancers, both gay. They each had been the last chosen for a job over the other more than once therefore could not stand each other.
Also on my floor was a very pretty but vacuous guy trying to become a male fashion model. He would at times accept a "male escort" job from some rich older lady but he found that distasteful. He was mostly gay.
Then there was Carol. She was a singer aspiring for Broadway stardom. Although she had a very nice body she was not close to being pretty. Her face was always set to "severe", she looked like a villainous schoolmistress. Her place was next to mine and I could hear her singing through the walls. She was very good.
I won her over as a friend by treating her like one. I made the assumption that her face and her personality did not match and I was correct. I told her enough stupid jokes that she found a few of them to be funny. Her smile completely changed her looks and so I tried to keep her smiling.
When I arrived in New York I had enough money for a room in a hotel but not knowing how things worked in the city I opted to crash with relatives, first my Aunt Dee then with her son.
My New York native cousin Bobby worked at a recording studio as a technician. He asked a friend there if there was work for me, (I was a percussionist). The friend wanted to know if I was union and Bobby said I was. I was invited to come over the following week. Bobby immediately took me to the union hall and paid for my registration and first month dues.
When I got my first check from studio work I used the money to get out of my cousins apartment and into the furnished flat. There was enough money for me to get everything I needed for the place and pay my cousin Bobby back .
My work at the studio was sporadic and so were my checks. One morning the assignments boss at the union hall, (normally referred to as "God"), asked if I played congas and spoke Spanish. I said "Si senor to both" and was sent to a studio that specialized in latin music.
I had no trouble with the language and was able to provide the phrases in rhythm they wanted. I was apparently working on three different albums at one time. Mambos, merengues, boleros, and cha chas danced in my head for weeks. More than once I ended up sleeping in the studio overnight. My love life became nonexistent. In fact for several weeks the only woman I saw for any length of time was Carol. My first check was good and the next several checks were very good, enough to actually start a savings account. Then the marathon sessions began.
My last check from the studio was a bonanza. I had lost track of how many hours I had worked and my check was three times larger than expected. I called my cousin to invite him to celebrate with me but he had a "serious lady to attend to".
So I asked Carol. She did not seem to think I was serious about spending a night on the town with her but my insistence won her over and she agreed. After cleaning up and donning my only dress shirt and sport coat I returned to her room and knocked at her door. When she saw how I was dressed her face went pale. She was wearing a floppy sweater and jeans.
She asked me, "Where are we going?"
I gave her the name of an Italian restaurant and Off Broadway playhouse.
Carol blushed and said "this will take just a sec." She removed her sweater revealing the best set of tits I had ever seen in person. She was not wearing a bra. While hurrying towards a closet she removed her jeans treating me to a view of her magnificent ass.
