Judy S Late Coming Of Age

I intend to publish a few stories that cover Paul D'Amato's life at City College between his first meeting with Michelle Hanley (

My Year with Michelle Ch. 01

) in October 1974 and her break-up with him just over a year later. I wrote some of this a while ago and never used it.

I thought it best to cover that period fairly succinctly with descriptions of a few major events. The story below is told from the point of view of Judy Weinberg, a woman he meets during that period. In effect, it is also a sequel to

A Hot Day in December.

The character of Andrea in that has been written out of this timeline.

Nora is in a number of series including

My Summer with Nora.

*****

Over the course of a number of months in 1975, I went from being a virginal girl to a sexually experienced woman. It occurred in a manner that I had not expected. The first thing that happened, in the fall of 1974, was that my best friend Michelle Hanley acquired a boyfriend. They met at random in the Finley snack bar, although he was already looking for someone to replace his previous girlfriend. Probably because I was alone without anyone of my own, I developed a serious crush on that guy.

I knew that it was wrong, but then he and I wound up seducing each other. I was also the secret admirer of my female friend, and eventually, we had some threesomes together. That was an unstable situation, of course, and by the end of the year, all three of us had moved on. But it was certainly a lot of fun, although a bit melodramatic, while it lasted.

****

I was not the kind of woman who got a lot of male attention. In fact, by the time I was a sophomore at the City College in New York, I had gotten none at all.

We live in a society that puts a lot of emphasis on conventional good looks, and I had trouble accepting that I didn't fit the required standards. Maybe much of it was in my own mind, but I let other people define who I was based on my appearance.

Maybe they thought that, if I wasn't fashionably slender, I didn't have sexual desires as strong as anyone else. Or if I did have such interests, there was something unseemly about them. It took me a while for me to realize what a hot lady I really was. What I needed was somebody who could appreciate those aspects of myself.

I'm about five-foot-two, and if you like women with round -- call it zaftig -- bodies then I'm the girl for you! I'm not slim, but I've got nice ample tits, backside, and thighs. My hair is reddish-brown and not always so easy to manage. I also have steel-rimmed glasses which I bought to replace the black-rimmed ones I used to own.

Since my earliest weeks at City College in the fall of 1973, my best friend was Michelle, a girl my age. Unlike me, she was tall and slender, and her shoulder-length hair was thick and dark, almost black.

She was from Bayside in Queens, which was quite far out in the eastern part of the borough. However, she was an ambitious sort, and within six months she had her own apartment in Long Island City, much closer to the school. In another six months, she had a used car, which she often used for commuting. She managed to go to school full-time and still make good money at a typesetting firm in Manhattan.

I lived with my parents on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, a twenty-minute subway ride to CCNY. It wasn't easy to get my financial act together, and I remained there for several years.

Like me, Michelle wore steel-rimmed glasses; unlike me, she had been with three boyfriends when the new year of 1975 rolled in. She seemed to have done well with the most recent one, a guy named Paul D'Amato who was also a sophomore.

Although he wasn't the tallest guy around, I still noticed and coveted him. I especially liked his dark hair and eyes. I knew I shouldn't yearn for another woman's guy. But at times I was together with both of them and my infatuation grew. In my imagination, I started to see him as a likely prospect for myself too.

I thought,

it will only be temporary, a way for a while to deal with my loneliness and the sexual desires I hadn't yet fulfilled.

Better that than to remain a virgin for another year waiting for someone else suitable to show up.

Maybe it wasn't a good idea, but I started to imagine myself as his "side girl," his lover while he continued to have his main affair with my friend. To make things more complicated, I also had strong Sapphic desires for her too. I began to have vivid masturbatory visions about being in a threesome with Paul and Michelle. At other times I imagined being with only one or the other.

Hey, it's the 1970s; everybody else is doing whatever they want, so how about me too?

I convinced myself that I deserved my share of The Sexual Revolution. On one level I was an ordinary middle-class New York college student. At another level, I felt like my physical desires had become an obsession.

Since I was a bit naïve, I thought that there was something wrong with me because I masturbated so much. Wasn't that normal for guys but not for girls? Whatever I had learned once in my health-ed classes was not particularly helpful. I would even whack off during the day in one of the school's ladies' rooms. It took a while to get over my guilty feelings and accept how strong female sexuality can be.

In my mind, I also wanted to be a wild lady who didn't always wear underwear. To try out my reverie of being sexually liberated, I experimented with wearing skirts and dresses without any panties underneath.

Even in cold weather, forgoing the wearing of drawers gave me a sense of my power. My pussy would tingle and get wet when I felt my thighs rubbing together as I walked.

In the winter, I'd often have thigh-high wool stockings and a petticoat for warmth under my skirt or dress, but otherwise, there might be nothing between the ground and my genitals except cold air. As the weather got warmer, I switched to thigh-high nylon stockings

I liked the feeling all that gave to me, but I usually kept a pair of drawers in my bag in case I needed them. Yet I spent some time in public bare under my otherwise modest clothes.

If I did wear underwear, I had bought lacey or see-through drawers for myself. Nobody knew what I was wearing except me, but I got a sense of my potential from having that sexy stuff on.

And then, for some months in mid-1975, somehow all of my yearnings about my friend and her lover came true. Then, by the end of that year, both Michelle and I had moved on to other people. We needed our own boyfriends, not the sharing of just one. Poor Paul endured a dry spell for the next six months, but that was the way life went at times.

Sometimes I wonder why Michelle let me get away with those shenanigans involving her boyfriend. She was a more complicated person than one might expect from her low-key personality.

The first factor was that she was genuinely glad that I finally had my cherry broken ("deflowered" sounds so, well, flowery) by someone we both knew would treat me well. The second was that she was sexually interested in me too, and my affair with Paul gave her an excuse to go forward with her own approach to me.

Also, Michelle wanted to get away from the responsibilities of her life to do something wild for a few months. Finally, I think she always knew that Paul was more or less temporary until a bigger, better deal came along. With Nora the previous year, he only lasted four months; with Michelle, it was just over twelve.

Maybe I was the only woman Michelle would let get away with all that. In any case, I learned a lot about how life works during that eventful time.

****

When he had started going with Michelle in October 1974, Paul invited her to join him on the staff of one of the five student newspapers. That one was called

The Salient,

and it had a reputation, somewhat overstated, for being the "countercultural" publication on campus.

During the spring semester of 1974, they peaked in the amount of controversial -- i.e., pornographic -- material they published. By the time Michelle landed there, the natural turnover rate of any college institution had resulted in a somewhat less dramatic publication. Some of the biggest proponents of the "weird era," as it was called, simply graduated.

Michelle spent time in their office on the third floor of the student center, Finley Hall, often writing articles or calling people on the phone. I would go there when I wished to meet her or just hang out. It was there that I met Paul. He had already been on the staff for nearly a year starting when he was a freshman.

One afternoon in early March 1975, I was in Finley and I made a spur-of-the-moment trip upstairs to see if Michelle was there. She wasn't, but Paul was.

We chatted for a few minutes, mostly gossip about the paper and then he said, "Let's go downstairs to the cafe and we can talk some more. It's a lot better than that terrible snack bar and we don't even have to leave the building."

I grasped -- or maybe just hoped -- that he had noticed me too. But it was the first date of any kind that I had ever had, and I readily agreed. Arguably I should have played a bit harder to get, but I couldn't contain the bubbly feeling I had about our little meeting. "Yeah, that sounds great."

Maybe it wasn't so little, because we spent an hour talking while downstairs. Some of the conversation was about his previous girlfriend, Nora, whom he had also invited to join the paper. They had broken up in October but she had stubbornly stayed on as a staff member. I had seen her a few times in the office, but she had never said much to me.

My curiosity got to me. "So what is Nora like? You should know."

Perhaps I had been a bit rude. Talking about someone's ex was not a good move, and I didn't even know how long they had been together. He seemed reluctant to answer, for a couple of reasons I found out later. He replied, "I guess she's not that different from the other 4,000 women around here." Well, she was different, but he wasn't going to talk about that.

It seemed that I had made a misstep, but just as we finished our coffee date, Paul said. "We should get together again soon, have a drink or lunch someplace downtown."

That was more serious than simply talking with a fellow student in Finley for an hour. I knew we were crossing a boundary, but it made me feel like a femme fatale to be dating another woman's lover. I could have said,

Michelle wouldn't like it if she found out,

but I didn't.

We agreed to go to a place down by Columbia University in two days. I tried to pretend that there was nothing unusual about it, but I was feeling thumps inside my heart and inside my crotch too. That was going to be more than the tentative approach we have been making up to then.

You might be surprised at how women consider lust sometimes, and I was surely getting ahead of myself. Michelle wasn't on my mind at all.

Judy, he obviously likes you. You're going to be twenty soon. He'd be a good prospect if I'm ever going to lose my virginity.

When it was time to leave, I made an excuse about attending a non-existent class. In reality, I was so aroused that I went across the way of one of my favorite ladies' room stalls in Wagner. I took my panties off -- I also had thigh-high stockings under my skirt - and hung them on a coat hook.

Then I masturbated twice in there while fantasizing about Paul. The first time I imagined sitting on him cowgirl style and the second time I wanted to be standing up but bent over as he took me from behind. Of course, I was sitting down at the time, but fantasies have a logic of their own.

I had to be careful to keep my voice down because some other lady might enter the room at any time. Yet I remember kicking the stall door with my boots each time I climaxed. Maybe on some level, I didn't care who heard me. If someone caught me, who were they going to report me to?

*****

On the afternoon I was to see Paul again, I met him on the sidewalk in front of a pub on Broadway in Morningside Heights. I knew I was being a bad girl by going out with Michelle's boyfriend, but I had been imagining what it would be like for some time. I mean, he was also doing the wrong thing by asking for that date but it seemed to take some of the onus off of me.

You might think I shouldn't trust that he wouldn't eventually cheat on me too, but at that point, I was just living in the moment. I would think about the future when it arrived.

Mostly we had some glasses of wine while we sat at a table. I was trying not to appear too flirty, but I couldn't contain my enthusiasm about being with him. He must have noticed because a couple of times he put a hand over one of mine on the tabletop.

When we left the place, he took my hand and walked with me over to a bench in Riverside Park about two blocks away. It seemed so natural that I readily went along with it.

As we sat there overlooking the river, we turned to kiss each other. In a minute or so we were having a make-out session, and I loved every moment of it. At that point, I understood why first kisses are such a big deal.

Paul got pretty forward with me, but I didn't mind at all. Rather, he was doing more than I had hoped for on that day. He unbuttoned my coat, and put a hand on my blouse to rub my breasts. I could feel my nipples stiffening inside my bra, and he took the time to twirl his fingers around each one in turn.

By the time we left there an hour later, I was feeling incredibly horny but there was nowhere for us to go for further fooling around. He took me home, about a mile south on the bus, and I knew I'd have my way with myself as soon as possible.

I told my parents I had some work to do at my desk in my room, and but I still made sure the door was locked. I slipped my shoes, tights, and underpants off. I supposed I could get away with being barefoot if I got caught, but no one could come in without knocking first.

Then, with my desk facing away, from the door, I put a hairbrush and my left hand under my skirt and released all that pent-up lust in a few minutes. Then I relaxed for a short while and did it all over again.

I had to be quiet but I gasped and put my head back during the two times that I came. Then I sat there pondering what was happening in my life. I hoped Paul would do more with me in the next few days -- in fact, I was sure he was going to continue seducing me. I had some twinges of guilt when I thought about Michelle, but I was determined to get whatever I needed out of that developing situation with him.

******

Joining the paper myself seemed like something I should do, but I didn't know what I'd write about and somehow it didn't appeal to me that much. However, I did offer to write a single, fairly dull news story (I couldn't understand how Michelle could stand doing those things). Thus I became listed in the masthead as a "contributor," one step below a full staff member.

There were about a half-dozen such people with casual attachments to the publication. At least it gave me a reason to hang out in the office as much as I pleased.

When I think back to that time, I know that Paul was quite assertive when making proposals to me. I certainly was happy with that, and I did nothing to dissuade him. Misbehaving with him seemed thrilling.

Maybe most guys are just like that: they'll take advantage of anything they can get from a woman or whatever she will give to them. They pretend to be loyal to their "main" woman, but they will easily fold when some other chick wiggles her ass or shows her pussy to them. For a while that chick was me.

One late afternoon, not long after I had joined the staff, Paul quietly asked me to stick around the office for a while. There were only two other people there, and when they left, he locked the door and turned the lights off. It was in late March, so it was nearing sunset as seven P.M. approached.

He made a good call by turning off those glaring fluorescents that lit most of the shabby old building's interior. Once, when it had been part of a Catholic women's college, it had been quite beautiful. Now, in the municipally-owned 1970s, it was not an ideal place for a romantic rendezvous.

As the room darkened, we sat on the old red couch near the windows and began making out. I knew he'd be receptive, so I said, "Would you like to see the panties I have on today? I've been buying some very nice new ones." On that day I had a pair of ample but lacey black ones.

Any guy will say yes to that, and I pulled my skirt up as we continued to kiss. Of course, he dropped his right hand down and put it inside the crotch of my underpants. His rubbing of my pussy felt great, and I took my garment off and dropped it on the floor.

Paul had experience feeling up his two girlfriends, and he knew exactly how to fondle me. He put two of his fingers inside me and used two more to gently press around my clitoris. He was subtle about that, not pushing too much directly on the most sensitive spot. My legs seemed to float up and out and I hung on to his shoulders as I moaned.

I'm capable of coming quite quickly with the right stimulus, and I soon had an orgasm -- the first ever I hadn't induced myself. I briefly worried that some staff member would arrive late and unlock the door, but I completely forgot that as I gave in to my pleasure.

As we sat back and held each other, I knew that "heavy petting" of that sort (yes, it sounds so quaint and yet it was apt) required reciprocity on my part.

Well, let's call it what it really was, mutual masturbation. His finger-fucking of me was followed by my handjob on him. Without saying what I was going to do, I dropped a hand into his lap and felt his erection inside his trousers.

He murmured, "Please, Judy, take it out."

"Of course, honey, you know I always intended to do that."

By now there was enough light coming in from streetlights on the campus for us to see what was happening. I undid his pants and his stiff cock sprung out. It wasn't merely a formality when I praised him. "That is a really nice one."

As I gently rubbed it he moaned. I giggled, "Don't worry, I'm going to make you come, that is for sure."

I took out a tube of hand cream and applied some to him so it wouldn't be a dry rub. I asked him, "So how do you usually do it to yourself?"

"I grip the base and rub it with the other hand."

"So you're not a one-handed kind of guy." I knew from Michelle the various techniques that men used on themselves.

"No, two hands work best."

"Then that's what I'll do on you."

I was well aware of the sexual power I had over him at that point. He dropped his own hands down to help mine. He was so charged up that it took him only a few minutes to come.

His hands soon were frantically pulling mine along. Maybe it was an illusion, but I seemed to feel a throbbing inside his cock. Then I saw a man ejaculate for the first time in my life. As a white stream shot up and out of him, I was impressed and I blurted out, "Wow, that is simply amazing."

The aftermath was a kind of comedy, and we laughed at the sticky messes covering our hands. Then we looked down and saw that his semen had landed on the floor a few inches from my discarded black panties. He was apologetic about it. "Oh, I had no idea where it was going to come down."

"Don't worry about it. Even if you had hit them, they're wash and wear!"

*****

The lack of privacy is a problem for young couples without their own places. Michelle already had her apartment. We, however, had to make do with whatever we could find. Hanging around that office at night was a bit unnerving, and we didn't feel relaxed knowing that there were a lot of people who had keys to the room.