1. Introduction
When I moved to New York I knew nobody. I was alone. I didn't even have a friend from college in the city. That's okay, I thought, I was young and reasonably attractive and half the population is men and someone will notice me, invite me out, and presto, the end of loneliness. And if that didn't work, there's always friendships with other women, right?
I hadn't counted on the long hours at work and my level of exhaustion when at the end of the day I would finally get to my tiny and somewhat depressing apartment, over in New Jersey. I barely had the energy to cook some ravioli for dinner and do the dishes before falling asleep in front of the television. Eventually I'd wake and haul myself off to bed.
I worked six days a week and Sundays I slept. I'm not religious so I couldn't handle going to church as a way to meet people. Besides, it would interfere with my sleep! The upshot is that I met no love interests and made no friends, women or men or otherwise (dogs? cats?). I figured I'd give it a few months and things would get better, right? Wrong.
I lived in Jersey City and I took the path train (a type of subway that went under the Hudson River) right to the World Trade Center where I worked. It was always jam packed with people just like me and sometimes some creepy guy would press a little too close, copping a quick feel of my boobs or ass depending on where he stood. I just let it go. My brother would have called it 'grazing my boobage.' Actually, copping a feel of my ass was more frequent, probably because then the jackass was behind me. I figured it was life in the big city.
One time though on a Saturday the train was mostly empty. I was wearing a summer dress that was actually fairly short. When I sat I let it ride up my thigh as much as the dress wanted to do, and when I sat with one leg over the other I was showing thigh almost all the way up to my hip. The guy across from me was enjoying the view, I could tell, and I kind of liked that he was.
I uncrossed my legs and sat straight. I let my knees drift apart just a bit. Since my thighs are thin I'm fairly sure that the guy across from me could have easily passed a quiz about my panties. What color are they? Lavender. Were they dry or wet? Mostly dry with a single wet spot in the lower middle. Were they plain cotton, silk, or lace? Plain cotton. Were they grannie panties or bikini panties? Bikini, and skimpy ones at that. Excellent my friend, you get an A+.
One more tidbit. When I left the train there's a long, steep staircase to get out of the station to the street. My voyeur lingered at the bottom as I climbed the stairs, and I'm sure he enjoyed a lovely look up my skirt. He doubtless saw my lavender panties hugging my pussy and perhaps he noticed they were now seriously wetter? You never know with these low level voyeurs.
These little anonymous teases helped to keep the blues at bay about my complete lack of a social life. I know it's ridiculous but they reassured me about my desirability. I needed the reassurance since I had yet to meet a single man outside of work! Men at work were off limits. It would be too complicated to have an affair with a colleague. I could tease them, though, and occasionally I would.
One time I wore a skirt to work that was a little shorter than usual, and I noticed Pete checking out my legs. I decided I had an itch high up on my thigh. My hand went under my skirt and I discretely pushed it up my thigh pretending nobody could see me doing it. Actually the only person who could was Pete, given where his chair was situated. Little by little my skirt went up my thigh until I found the nonexistent spot of the itch and scratched my upper thigh happily.
A little later I caught Pete's eye and smiled at him. He blushed a deep fuschia.
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2. My Friend Dina
Frustrated by not having furniture nor curtains or blinds, I rented a car one Sunday and I drove to the closest Ikea. I felt that I need to make my living quarters more livable. My apartment had been a bit of a dream for an exhibitionist, since I had no curtains or blinds. Pity that I'm not an exhibitionist. I'm actually quite a private person. Well, mostly I am, except for, for example, times like my subway rides when shit happens. I prefer to call those times innocent flirting.
I had one chair, a table, a chest of drawers, and a TV. For privacy I had to go to the bathroom to change, and occasionally I would be so tired I would just shed my clothes as I went to bed. If somebody saw me in my birthday suit, well, so what? It was unlikely and besides, I just didn't care anymore.
At Ikea when I was checking out the blinds and curtains I met another woman there doing the same thing. Ikea had a place for lunch so Dina and I had lunch together (Swedish meatballs - yummy!) and we hit it off. It turned out she lived in the same apartment complex as I did, and we drove back caravan style. She invited me over to her place which was in just as primitive a state as was mine.
We talked and talked and talked some more as new girlfriends are wont to do, with me in her one chair and her on the floor. As diplomats would say we had a frank and wide-ranging discussion about our life histories, our jobs and our favorite ice cream flavors and yes, near the end, sex and men. We went out for dinner (that was so we'd both have chairs to sit in!) and at dinner we ended up discussing the horror of the caged children at the border. She told me of a demonstration next Sunday in the city to protest the border crisis and we decided to go to it together. Both of us were in the market for boyfriends, so we had fun planning what to wear to the demonstration.
I decided to channel the hippie period for the demonstration and wore a bandana, a T shirt without a bra, and a long flowing skirt, plus sandals. I have long hair and the bandana set it off nicely. Dina wore a T shirt that said, right across her boobs, "Good, But Not Easy," and then Daisy Duke shorts since she had dynamite legs, and why not show them off? I thought they showed off a bit more of her bare ass cheeks than would be my taste, but hey, that's just me. We made quite the pair. We made up some signs and took the path train under the river to the demonstration at Foley Square.
Dina had said that demonstrations were a great way to meet like-minded men, and damn if it didn't work for her! She picked up a great guy, I struck out, and the three of us took the path train back to Jersey City. She invited the guy, named Stew, over for pot luck. Dina was of Italian ancestry and maybe that's why whenever she touched pasta it turned out divine. I was also impressed that all of her Ikea furniture and blinds were up. Mine were still in their boxes!
My mother always said the old cliché that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. I'm sure she's right in the final analysis, but the way to get a man interested in the first place is through sex. Dina and Stew wanted me to stay, but once the two of them were making out and Dina was undressed down to her shorts with her generous boobs hanging out for all to see and for Stew to caress and tweak, I quietly took my leave.
The next morning Dina called me at 6AM for breakfast. "The dress code is topless. Is that okay?" We discussed it a bit, and I went over in gym shorts and a T-shirt and nothing else. I was a little exposed walking through the complex to her apartment but at 6AM it wasn't much of a problem. Just before I rang her bell I removed my T shirt and I was topless.
Dina made delicious omelets for the three of us, since Stew had ended up spending the night and he was also topless. He had a gorgeous chest, ripped and with just the right amount of chest hair. He stared unapologetically at my boobs, which surprised me since he had just enjoyed, I felt sure, fucking his brains out with Dina all night long and her boobs were seriously bigger than mine. I did know from past experience, however, that there's something about my boobs that tends to mesmerize men. I don't know what it is.
We had our surreal topless breakfast and then I returned and dressed for work. By chance we all took the same path train into Manhattan and our jobs. During the short train ride (circa 15 minutes) Dina and Stew invited me on a blind double date with a friend of Stew's the next weekend.
Stew had a crude moment. He said that when his friend Mike saw my boobs he would fall for me like a ton of bricks. "Mike is a boobs fanatic, you see," Stew added, "and your boobs are a work of art. They're gorgeous and they make a man want to touch them forever."
"He may not see my boobs, Stew. I have to like a guy to do that, you know? We may not click," I said.
"You seemed pretty casual about your boobs this morning," Stew said.
"That was for Dina," I teased. Let him think about that! Dina giggled.
"Well, I must say that I enjoyed it, too. It's too bad we all had to leave for work. Dina and I might have enjoyed a threesome with you," Stew said.
I don't shock easily, but that remark did the trick. I was shocked, surprised, flummoxed, whatever you want to call it. I shot a glance at Dina and she was smiling, without even a trace of surprise, embarrassment, or indignation on her face. Well, she had just fucked the guy she had met only hours earlier, I realized. Dina is made of different stuff than I am. Well, I don't judge, and good for her.
I knew I had to react to what Stew had said. Not knowing what to say, I said, "I don't know either of you well enough for something like that, Stew. Group sex is not my thing."
"Have you ever tried it?" Stew asked.
"No." Okay that was a small lie, but the question about my past sex life was completely inappropriate.
"Well then, how do you know?" Dina asked. I was surprised Dina had joined in. I had thought this was all just in the perverted mind of Stew. After all, don't men like to seduce as many women as possible? Notches on their belts, and all that stuff?
Luckily we reached our stop and the conversation ended. We all worked in the World Trade Center complex as it turned out. We left but arranged the blind date for the next weekend, and the three of us went to our respective jobs.
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3. My Blind Date with Mike
The next weekend, Saturday night to be precise, the four of us met at a watering hole near the World Trade Center, and I laid eyes on my blind date Mike for the first time. He was nice looking, nothing to write home about, but then I'm not exactly Alexandria Daddario myself, am I? My boobs however are in fact a lot like hers, and my body in general is, too. It's our faces that differ.
What I liked about Mike was his gift of gab. He was a great conversationalist and extraordinarily witty. He kept me laughing throughout the dinner as he plied me with wine. Now I can hold my liquor, but I don't weigh that much and no girl my weight could hold all the liquor and wine Mike tried to get me to drink. I got fairly drunk.
