Having just turned eighteen at the height of hippiedom, I so much wanted to be part of that scene! But I was still a high school kid from the Bronx, college-bound and straighter than I wanted to admit. Sure, I smoked dope, but who did I know that didn’t?
On weekends, I would take the subway downtown to the East Village and hang around St. Mark’s Place. I loved the button and poster shop, Underground Uplift Unlimited. I would buy sandalwood incense at the Intergalactic Trading Post to burn in my candlelit room at home while listening to The Mothers of Invention. At the Gem Spa, I would have an egg cream, a classic drink from every New York boy’s childhood, and pick up the latest issue of The East Village Other, the local alternative weekly.
The Other had a weekly feature called Slum Goddess, a photo of a real live East Village resident. No airbrushed bunnies, these were the girls I fantasized about. I imagined myself living with one of them in a tenement on Avenue B.
One Saturday I was browsing St. Mark’s Books, the kind of store that stocked The Anarchist Cookbook and Revolution for the Hell of It. I saw a woman walking the aisles who looked familiar. She was a prototypical hippie chick: long black hair parted in the middle, peasant blouse, well-worn jeans patched with embroidered ribbon from the Ukrainian store on Seventh Street, and leather sandals. I suddenly realized why I recognized her.
Although it seems impossible now, I was extremely shy at that age, which accounted for my limited dating experience. I had been out with a few girls, and even made out a couple of times, but had passed up many opportunities for fear of rejection. Yet something motivated me to step up and address her.
“Hey, I liked your picture in The Other.”
She looked at me coldly. “Oh yeah?” she replied, “What did you like about it?”
I said she looked exactly like the kind of girl I dreamt about. This seemed to soften her, and she said, “That’s sweet. So what kind of girls do you go out with?” With nothing to be gained by talking big, I told her the truth, that I had only been on a few dates, and with girls who were nothing like her. You could drive a truck between the lines and it would have had “virgin” painted on the side panels.
She looked me up and down, took my hand and said, “Let’s go for a walk.” I was incredulous, and if I hadn’t been so nervous I would have sprouted wood right then.
As we walked, I learned her name was Suzy, she was 25 and had come to New York from Ohio four years earlier. She waitressed at Ratner’s, serving blintzes to Jewish ladies before performances at the Yiddish theater, and cheesecake to rock stars and their fans after shows at the Fillmore East.
Eventually we were on Third Street between B and C. She stopped, dropped my hand and said, “This is my place.” I thought our time together was over. But she started up the steps, turned and said, “C’mon!” As we hiked up to the sixth floor, I experienced an olfactory potpourri that included tomato sauce, cigarette smoke and cat piss.
Her apartment was bedroom, living room and kitchen together in one long room. It was what they used to call a railroad apartment, cut in half. The bedroom area had a full size mattress on the floor and a dresser strewn with candles in various stages of meltedness. The kitchen consisted of an ancient fridge, small gas range and deep sink in a row, across from which was a table and two chairs. The living area had a single easy chair, a milk crate full of records, and a stereo on the floor. There were bars on the windows that led to the fire escape.
Suzy pulled out a few albums and put them on the record changer. First up was Donovan’s Gift From a Flower to a Garden. She told me to sit in the easy chair and climbed on, facing me, with her knees on either side of me. She bent down to kiss me. Her tongue entered my mouth and then pulled back, my tongue following into hers. My mind was racing and then went blank. The idea that I was making out with this beautiful older woman in her flat in the East Village was overwhelming. I heard Donovan sing, “Oh gosh, life is really too much.
My hands were on the arms of the chair. She sat upright and placed them on her breasts. It was my first such feel, and a braless one at that. She pushed back down and we resumed kissing, now with my hands squished against her softness. What seemed like a happy eternity later, she pulled up again and pulled her blouse off. This was my first in-person view of a woman’s naked breasts, and I sat there dumbfounded. She smiled at the effect she had on me, then stood, unbuckled my belt and undid the buttons on my jeans. I lifted my butt and she pulled off my jeans and briefs. She motioned me to remove my t-shirt.
My poor dick ached from having strained against the clothing, but was now free and in open air for the first time with a woman. Suzy smiled, spread my legs apart and knelt between them. She took my dick in hand and began pumping it. In just seconds I groaned and, much as a geyser erupts from a combination of pressure and heat, I shot a prodigious amount of molten jism straight up. It came down and made a puddle on my belly. Suzy giggled and said something about having primed the pump, then went to the bathroom and returned with a towel for me to clean up.
I felt a disorienting mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction, but did not have much time to dwell on it. Suzy began walking to the other end of the apartment. I removed my sneakers and socks and followed. She kicked off her sandals and peeled out of her jeans and panties. Now I viewed my first in-person pussy. Actually, it was the first in any sense, as Playboy was yet to show bush.
The next record dropped and Jimi Hendrix sang, “A broom is drearily sweeping up the broken pieces of yesterdays life.” Suzy told me to lie down and said not to worry, she was on the pill.
This was a different era. Although I had heard about “the clap” I thought it was something only sailors got, so there was no thought of using a condom. Now that I knew I was going to have sex with my dream girl, my dick sprung back to life, ready for action. Today I’m wistful thinking of the time I could regain tumescence that quickly. Just one good reason they say youth is wasted on the young.
We sat next to each other on the mattress. I decided I had to make a move, so I leaned over to kiss her. As we made out, I massaged her breasts and felt her nipples harden. Although inexperienced, I had read some sex stories so knew what to do next. I pushed her gently to lie down and began sucking her right nipple. She purred and held my head, so I felt I was doing something right. I couldn’t explain to myself why I found this so pleasurable, but I moved to the left nipple and as I sucked it, rubbed her other breast.
Now her breathing became more pronounced and her lower body squirmed a little. She flipped me onto my back and began licking me, starting at the ears, and working her way down to my nipples, her hair brushing along my body, and then taking my dick in her mouth. The feeling was sublime.
Then she straddled me, took my dick in her hand and it disappeared into her wet pussy. I was out of my mind with pleasure, and she was in control. Suzy balanced herself with one hand on my stomach and began moving up and down, then to and fro, grinding her pussy against my pudendum, her breasts swaying in a way that I found quite hypnotic.
As we continued fucking, she sat more upright and began fingering herself. In retrospect, I know this was a good thing, because I knew little about female anatomy and was clueless as to how to bring a woman to orgasm.
Suzy’s eyes were closed, she was making umming sounds, and her finger moved faster in a circular motion. She threw her head back and leaned back a little, balancing on a hand behind her. In a few more moments, I felt my dick being squeezed repeatedly and a new wetness came over it as Suzy vocalized a series of “oh”s. Then I experienced a deeply satisfying sensation in my balls. As my dick began to spasm, I felt the hot liquid shoot out of me and into her.
Suzy lifted herself off and then collapsed on me, resting her head on my chest. On the turntable, Moby Grape asked, “Would you let me walk down your street, naked if I want to?”
My brain was in a delirium and my body was spent. After some minutes, consciousness returned. I rolled us over on our sides with legs entwined and felt the sticky wetness of my dribbled cum on our thighs. She kissed me and rubbed my head. I told her how beautiful she was and how lucky I felt that she wanted to be with me that day.
We dressed and she took me to Odessa, a diner on Avenue A. We had coffee and shared an order of pierogi. Suzy said, “I really had fun with you. You’re very sweet and you’re cute, and now you know some things you didn’t before today. So I want you to go back to the Bronx, and get yourself a girlfriend!”
I paid the bill and we exited. Suzy gave me a big hug and kissed me hard, then broke off. She said, “Maybe I’ll see you around the neighborhood sometime,” and walked away as I stood and watched. I started back to the Astor Place station. Crossing Second Avenue at St. Mark’s, I ducked into the Gem Spa.
The counterman squirted chocolate syrup into a glass, added a couple of ounces of milk from a carton, then placed the glass under the seltzer spigot with a spoon cocked at an angle so the seltzer would splash off it. As the glass began to fill, he began stirring rapidly. A foamy white head formed with brown carbonated liquid below. I grabbed the latest issue of The Other, took a stool and leafed through it, as I sipped my egg cream, to find out what this week’s Slum Goddess looked like.
* * *
Read the winners of Desdmona's Sixties Erotica Contest.
