Emmy's Adventures

Emmy's 18th Birthday

It is 1978. Disco rules the airwaves. Iran teeters towards revolution and New York City was still recovering from the Fiscal Crisis of 1975 and the Black Out of 1977. Inflation, economic stagnation, and malaise take their toll on post-Viet Nam America. It is a turbulent time to come of age.

1-Preparation and Anticipation

Sunday, May 21, 1978

"Since your 18th birthday last week was so disappointing," Emmy's mother, Grace, started with an assumption, "And your father and I have that Memorial Day thing with the Lonegans," followed by a new bit of information. Who the heck were the Lonegans? "Chester Bradley would like to take you out on the town in the City on Thursday. I told him not to let you have too much alcohol."

Emmy was annoyed that her mother assumed her birthday had been disappointing. Her mother was right, Emmy's notorious lack of a social life was well commented upon. There was no one she could really call a close friend, certainly no boyfriends, so no party. Emmy would have felt better just staying in, but her dad insisted on taking her out for her first legal drink. The young woman awkwardly sipped on a rum and coke while her father polished off three bourbons on the rocks. She appreciated the effort and intent of her father, but it did not hide how generally empty her life was.

It also annoyed Emmy that her mother had ditched her only daughter for this milestone birthday. Grace said she needed to catch up with an old college friend. Emmy had been closer to her mother, who was always there, than her father, who was frequently away on business. When he was home, she seemed to be last on his list of priorities. The times when her dad was home were the times Emmy learned to entertain herself, he demanded all of Grace's attention then. A glass of wine at the kitchen table with her mother would have meant more than a bad tasting coke in a smokey bar with her dad and a room of creepy old men.

She was finally annoyed that her mother was trying to control how much she had to drink when she was legal. All that annoyance was overwhelmed by the tidal wave of joy brought on by the knowledge that Chester Bradley wanted to take her out on the town. Not to the zoo or some museum, but out in the grown-up world.

She really hoped he would rape her. Emmy snapped herself out of it. The box of erotica had gotten to her. But she did hope to have sex with him. Rough sex would be great, too. This might actually happen! If he wanted her that way. What if he didn't? What if he was just being nice? How could she make sure he did want her?

"So, your father and I will be leaving Tuesday," Emmy heard her mother say. It was Sunday now and her birthday celebration was Thursday. "And be back the Tuesday after. Possibly Wednesday if we're really having fun."

Emmy had no idea what was going on. She should pay better attention.

"You weren't paying attention, were you?" her mother asked patiently.

"No," Emmy confessed. "Sorry, Mom."

"I know it seems like we dropped this all on you, but we talked about this at Josh Zimmerman's Bar Mitzvah," the older beauty said patiently.

"Mom, that was three years ago," the young blonde protested. She tried to recall that day. What she most remembered was a cute 22-year-old hitting on her until her dad scared him off.

"I know, but the plans haven't changed," her mother rebutted cheerily.

"Is this that sailing thing?" Emmy finally had some recollection.

"See, you do remember!" Her mother clapped her hands together.

"Kind of," Emmy was trying to remember more about it other than they were going sailing.

"The Lonegans have a yacht and we are going with them and a few friends to Isula di Schiavi, stuffy old grownup stuff." They had planned this three years ago and never thought to bring it up again until now? "Gin and tonics and pinochle, that sort of thing."

"Okay," Emmy said, realizing she would be parentless for at least a week. "I'm on my own?"

"You're eighteen and soon off to college," the older beauty said dismissively. And what did she mean off to college? "I think this is a good test of your responsibility. You've got finals on Monday and Tuesday and can skip the rest of the week if you want. It's not like you are going to hang out with all your pals. Just call in sick and pretend you're me."

"Should I take the train into the city?" Emmy switched to logistical problems.

"Oh, heavens no!" her mother exclaimed at the thought of her beautiful daughter riding the train alone. "Chester Bradley will come for you."

"Mom?" There was something Emmy had always wanted to ask. "Why do we call him Chester Bradley and not Chester or Mr. Bradley?"

A look of puzzlement crossed her mother's lovely face. Emmy sometimes forgot that her mother was a beautiful woman.

"We just always have," Grace said with a sigh. "Obviously, he knew your father before your father met me. That's how we were introduced, and it always had such a nice flow to it."

"Chester Bradley." Emmy said, trying out the feel of it. "Does have a nice ring to it."

"Chester Bradley," her mother echoed.

-----

Tuesday, May 23, 1978

The quiet blonde breezed through her two days of finals. Emmy might not be social, but she was smart. If she had really tried, Emmy could have achieved a 4.0 gpa, but she only really put effort into the subjects that interested her. The idea that she was finished with high school forever was still sinking in, this was a huge milestone in her life that just seemed like another Tuesday. She felt that the big event, bigger than the graduation ceremony on Saturday that she was planning to skip, was seeing Chester Bradley.

Grace and Eddie left on schedule and Emmy had a boring Tuesday night watching Happy Days, Laverne and Shirley and Three's Company. She turned it off when she saw they had on a summer fill-in instead of Soap. The blonde teen curled up naked in bed and reread her favorite parts of The Story of O. The amount of anal sex in the Story of O made it Emmy's favorite smut, even if some other parts didn't do it as much for her. She just could not really get into whipping for the sake of whipping. Whipping as punishment or for training she could see. But she felt the girl should have to do something to earn that much pain. She thought she would do something bad just to see what it felt like, though.

-----

Wednesday, May 24, 1978

Wednesday began with the phone ringing. Emmy was in a deep sleep, and it took several rings for her to realize what the noise was. She stumbled out of bed. The closest phone was in her parents' room. She was halfway to the door of her room when she realized she was naked, but remembered she was home alone. She must have been having one heck of a dream, because she woke up with a wet pussy.

The phone kept ringing. Whoever was calling was persistent. She ran the last few steps and picked up the powder blue rotary princess phone receiver from her father's nightstand.

"Hello?" she said. She looked at the clock, it was 545am. No wonder she was not awake. Who called that early? What had she been dreaming about?

"Listen," the other voice said. It was Chester Bradley! As soon she heard that word in that tone, though, her brain switched off.

"Okay, so be ready to go at 1000pm tonight and we will start your birthday celebration at midnight," the familiar voice of her dream man said.

"Sounds good," Emmy heard herself say. "I'll see you then."

She looked at the clock again, it was 630. Her ear was hot and sweaty from holding the phone against it. Her arm was tired, too. She blinked, curious about what had happened over the last 45 minutes. But, just like at the pool party, her curiosity quickly evaporated.

Emmy knew the plan for the night. Chester Bradley wanted to start her birthday celebration, exactly one week late, immediately at midnight. The lovely teen would be picked up at 1000pm. She would be ready to go then.

On autopilot, Emmy threw on a robe and went downstairs. She opened the front door and found the package she knew would be waiting for her. It was the outfit he wanted her to wear tonight.

Without looking inside, she set the package down in her room. Emmy hoped he would want her. She had fifteen and a half hours until her adventure with Chester Bradley would begin, she had to do something to pass the time. The18-year-old, fortunately, was well skilled at passing time. She found her favorite chair, got out her sketch pad and returned to a picture of Chester Bradley she had been working on. It was, of course, based on her seeing him shirtless at the pool party.

Emmy looked at the clock again. It was 930pm. And there was someone else here, doing her hair. She was sitting at her makeup table and an older Italian lady was chattering away. The young blonde realized that even though she did not remember doing anything in the last fourteen or so hours, she had memories of that time. It was a very odd sensation, like seeing a movie of herself. She had gone to a salon, got her legs and pits expertly depilated, and, she realized with a start, her pubes were trimmed, too. A nice Laotian lady had done it all professionally and without much chitchat.

After that she had eaten a couple slices of pizza from the place next to the salon. That was good pizza, she recalled, and hoped to remember to go back there. Then she went home for a nap, woke up a two hours later, took a shower, and Vicki arrived.

Vicki was Chester Bradley's go-to mobile hair and makeup girl. They had met back in the sixties when she was doing stuff on Broadway, and he was Chester Bradley. Now, she had a new grandbaby and just did jobs like this on the side for extra cash. Emmy realized she knew all this because Vicki had been talking nonstop for the last hour. Maybe tuning out had been a blessing.

"And done!" Vicki proclaimed. "Ooh, I gotta go, hun. My daughter's heading to work soon and I'm on baby duty. I love it! You look great, doll, and I hope you have a great time!"

Even faster than she talked, Vicki was out the door.

Emmy stood and looked at herself in the full -length mirror.

"I'm beautiful," she said amazed.

Emmy was dressed in a short, black cocktail dress. It was sleeveless with thin shoulder straps. The cut was not too low, but offered a glimpse of her firm breasts. It was tight, and hugged her figure, but still comfortable. The hem fell no more than three inches below her butt, she knew would be tugging it back into place all night. The dress showed a lot of skin, and she looked good in it. She had grown nicely, her breasts filled out and her legs had a lovely tone to them. The black dress contrasted nicely with her blonde hair and fair complexion.

Emmy was surprised to find a double strand of pearls around her neck and matching earrings on gold posts in her ears. Her high school class ring was gone from her right hand and in its place was an intricate gold and sapphire ring. Whose jewelry was this?

Her long blonde hair was styled up, with way more hairspray than Emmy would have used on her own. She had to admit it looked good. With her hair up, her graceful neck was exposed, accented by the pearls at the bottom. Her makeup was beautiful, Vicki was amazing. Her pale complexion was given more color, but not too much, and her green eyes highlighted.

Emmy was 5'5" and the medium heels added another couple of inches. And made her curvy butt look good. The only practice the teen had in heels was for the assorted formal social gatherings she was required to attend as the daughter of an upper-middle class family on Long Island. She walked back and forth down the upstairs hallway to get the feel of the shoes. When Emmy felt comfortable, she did three or four trips up and down the stairs and felt safe she would not embarrass herself.

"If Chester Bradley doesn't fuck me tonight, he never will," Emmy said to herself. If he didn't, she could always go on the subway alone in the middle of the night dressed like this and she was sure someone would be willing to rape her. That was probably a bit much, she just had no idea what she would do if this night did not go the way she wanted.

Ten minutes to go. She knew Chester Bradley would be on time, he always was. She walked around the house and turned off the extra lights, doing her part to help in the latest energy crisis, this moral equivalent of war. He had not told her to bring anything, so she made sure the back door was locked and waited.

When the old grandfather clock that had been passed down since her grandfather won it in a poker game chimed ten, she rose and walked to the door. Before she made it, there was a gentle rap. He was on time as always.

2-The Drive

Emmy opened the door to a large Black man with the butt of a holstered pistol visible in his open jacket. She was a little disappointed, she was expecting Charles Bradley himself.

"Mr. Chester Bradley is waiting in the car for you, Miss," he said with a low rumbling voice. He looked at her small handbag. "He says to leave that, bring nothing. He will take care of everything."

"My ID?"

He shook his head and laughed.

"If you are with him, you won't need ID," he assured her.

Knowing that there was a key under a flowerpot around back, Emmy, bringing only what she had on, pulled and locked the door to her house. She did not realize it at the time, but it was the last time she ever set foot in that house.

Emmy noted all the details on the short walk from the front door to the waiting black 1978 Lincoln Continental Town Car. It was starting to cloud up, but still warm. A gibbous waning moon tried to pierce the clouds and light pollution. She felt the breeze on her bare legs and up her skirt (only now did she realize that she was not wearing underwear), heard her heels on the sidewalk.

The driver opened the door and Emmy saw the chiseled features of the man she had desired her entire life.

"You look absolutely beautiful, Emmy" he said as she climbed in. "A stunning young woman."

Now that she was face to face with the object of her desires, she became shy and nervous. When the driver shut the door, Emmy slid close to the door and played with the hinged top to the ashtray.

"Thank you for doing this, Chester Bradley," Emmy said and nervously met his gaze.

"Chester Bradley sounds too unwieldy," he said to her. "Why don't you just address me as 'Sir'."

"Yes, Sir," Emmy quickly said and found she loved how it felt. "Thank you for taking me out for my birthday, Sir."

"You are most welcome, dear Emmy," he said. "Sorry I could not be there last week. I cannot imagine a drink with Eddie at Knight's Bar was much fun."

"He tried," Emmy said in defense of her father, "but I could barely see him with all the smoke in the place and it took me three times washing my hair to get the smoke smell out and this old guy kept staring at me."

Emmy kept babbling on in her nervousness until he turned her head and silenced her with a quick kiss on the lips.

"After this trip to the city, you will be a complete woman," he said.

The implications ran through her. Did he really mean that? Was he going to take her virginity?

"Now, slide closer to me," he said to her. "This is a big car, and you are too far away."

"Yes, Sir," Emmy liked when he told her what to do.

The young light-haired beauty slid so she was almost next to him. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her the rest of the way.

The touch of his strong hands on her bare shoulders was electric.

"I've been waiting a long time to have you, and I will," he said to her softly. "I am going to change your entire world, open up parts of you that you did not know existed. You will make more sense by the time I am done with you."

He did not speak any more about that, but spent the rest of the trip talking about anything else. Mostly he ranted about how the new safety and emission standards were killing the American automobile. But his arm never left her shoulder.

"Iran is going to be trouble," he said at one point, segueing. from the last oil crisis. He removed his arm from her shoulder, but now his hand rested on her bare thigh. "The Shah is just not cutting it," he began.

Emmy's entire attention was on the hand on her thigh, and not in the troubles of the Peacock Throne. His hand, powerful and rough, was on the smooth skin (freshly shaved!) of her thigh. His fingers were slightly spread, covering more area that way, she figured. If she tried, she could feel each individual finger resting on the top of leg.

Her nipples were hard. That was supposed to happen, right? She wondered if he noticed. His hand shifted, the fingers coming together and moving ever so slightly down to the sensitive inside of her thigh. Emmy froze, not wanting to ruin the moment. He continued to talk, turning to the possibility of peace between Egypt and Israel.

Emmy's foot was falling asleep. She needed to move, but she did not want her date to get the wrong idea and think she was moving to get him off her. Emmy shifted, stretched her legs straight out for a second, then crossed them with the other leg on top. Quickly, so there was no misunderstanding, she took his hand and put it back on top of her leg. She did put it a little farther up and a little more on the inside than he had left it, just in case he had any trouble getting the hint.

Chester Bradley apparently got the hint. Instead of just resting casually on her thigh, it now caressed and stroked her, exploring her.

"You have beautiful thighs," Chester Bradley complemented Emmy.

The young blonde blushed and rubbed her thighs together with his hand in the middle.

"Thank you, Sir," she said.

Emmy looked out the window, they were in the city. The hour-and-a-half drive had disappeared in a haze of Iran and fuel standards.

Manhattan was at its low point. The city was broke, crime was up and much of the tax base had fled to the suburbs. It seemed more destined to be an apocalyptic wasteland, and not some of the world's most expensive real estate. The police, fire and sanitation services were all overworked and underpaid; morale was low, and it showed in the condition of the streets.

The car turned into a darkened parking garage. Graffiti covered the walls and garbage collected seemingly everywhere but in the few trashcans. What did Sir, as she now began to condition herself to think of Chester Bradley, want with this place? Emmy had never been out in the city at night, a couple of sketchy looking guys eyed the expensive car but kept their distance. Emmy curled up closer to her protector.

A man sat in a box of bulletproof glass watching a tv and manning the gate to the garage. The driver pulled up, rolled down his window and handed the man in the box a business card and a crisp twenty-dollar bill. The man in the box looked it over, nodded, and without a word of thanks for the money, opened the gate. They pulled around a corner and waited.

"Are we safe here, Sir?" Emmy asked.

"Of course we are, dear," he assured her and gave her bare leg a rub. "As long as you are with Baker and me you are fine. I would not suggest you walk alone around here, though. A pretty young thing like you, dressed like that..."

The overhead door in front of them opened. Baker pulled forward and turned off his lights. The door behind them closed and lights flicked on in the passage outside. They drove down a narrow ramp, the turns tight enough that Emmy worried about the big car making it, but the men had no concern on their faces. Emmy knew she should not worry, but she was so far out of her element here. Her father kept her away from the dark parts of New York City.

The car stopped in front of a set of doors where a man in a formal suit manned a small counter. He stepped forward sharply and opened Emmy's door. She looked quickly at Sir for approval. He nodded and she slid out.