The image of me

For five years, from April of 1979 until this last April, I worked part- time
at this funky non-commercial radio station in New York. Non-commercial, by the
way, means you do it for love and not for money. I was part of the public
affairs department and I produced programs on nuclear weapons, South Africa,
utilities, alternate energy, housing, all sorts of things.
During the time I worked at this station I occasionally supervised two
interns, Caroline and Eve, who worked on a couple of programs, turned out to
be very nice folks, but who did not realize that producing a regular radio
program takes a shitload of work. Eight to ten hours sometimes for one hour of
finished product, and that does not count travelling to and from wherever the
person you’re interviewing is located. So after some much needed help,
Caroline and Eve sort of faded off into other things. I once met Caroline
briefly in Penn Station and said hello, but I never saw Eve again until
yesterday.
When they were working with me, I was at least somewhat attracted to both of
them. I was in a long running relationship which was sometimes monogamous (on
both our parts) and sometimes not. At that time, I was in a monogamous mood so
I would not allow myself to interpret the interns’ smiles and warmth as
anything other than friendliness. I also had a certain misgiving about getting
involved with station interns. Some of the long time “famous” personalities at
the station were often surrounded (figuratively) with women and they would
take advantage of the psychological situation by getting laid. Now it’s not
that these events were involuntary, by any means, its just that I want people
to like me or be attracted to me for who I am and not for whatever image they
may have of me. It’s also not as if this occasional groupie phenomenon was
something of the level of teenyboppers standing on line to get at Mick Jagger.
Although there were real fans of many of the station’s live radio producers,
this station only has maybe 30,000 or so regular listeners, so there are
limits to the social importance of this phenomenon. And in the case of
Caroline and Eve, it certainly was not a case of my dealing with teenagers.
Both were very mature, very bright women in their mid twenties while I was in
my late twenties at that time.

All of this is just introduction. The real start of this story begins with the
fact that our little station gets 80% of its money from fundraisers and
listener subscriptions. Every December we hold our annual Holiday Crafts Fair,
which features lots of really high class craftspeople from the Northeast and
Midwest. I made one of my vists to the Fair last night. I still get in free as
a “retirement benefit” from the station.

Weekday evenings are much easier than Saturday and Sunday afternoons, which
are totally packed. I was walking through the main hall when my eye caught
something from a distance. I wasn’t sure but it looked a lot like the fedora
hat that Eve always used to wear and the head and form underneath the hat
likewise looked familiar. I eased my way through the crowd to get closer, and
yes, it was Eve. I came up to her side and caught her eye.

“Hey, it’s good to see you.”

She looked happy but a bit sheepish. I suspected she felt a bit guilty about
leaving the intern position two and one-half years ago.

“You know, I never harbored expectations about people who come in as interns.
No one really seems to realize that producing radio is much more time
consuming than whatever preconceptions you arrive with.”

We walked into the snack bar that was adjacent to the main exhibition hall,
sat down and had a bite. We talked for over half an hour and my original im-
pression of her was only being reinforced. Degree in biology (like me), worked
in a couple of medical labs, travelled around, worked as a telephone company
repair technician (very impressive to me, not having any idea how the phones
work) and now she was still in the same job she’d been in when she interned,
the enforcement division of NYC’s environmental protection agency. On one
level this was all a friendly conversation. On another, that of eye and body
laguage, it was flirtation. She maintained eye contact with me almost
constant- ly, something I find very attractive. She was interested in my life
in the last couple of years, why I’d left the station, what sort of stuff I’d
been writing about transmission lines, nuclear waste and depressing stuff like
that.

She asked if I was in a hurry or would I like to share a bottle of champagne
with her back at her place in Brooklyn. People in NYC may wear jeans and
sneakers but a lot of us seem to like expensive wine.

The subway ride from the upper west side of manhattan to the Park Slope
section of Brooklyn takes about 45 minutes. You can’t talk much during most of
the ride because subway brakes are too noisy. Lots of people in New York stick
their fingers in their ears while a subway is screeching because of the
decibel level. It actually hurts at times.

Exiting the relatively warm subway into the 25 degree cold on December 22 at
7Pm was a bit of a shock. It’s been raining and the combined effect of cold
rain and cold air meant for a less than leisurely walk to her house. Even
today I still am a bit shy with women, especially initially, so when I reached
out and touched and then held her hand as we walked, I felt much better and
warmer when she smiled broadly.

Apartments in New York are generally heated by steam, which is nice but as a
rule they are usually too cold or downright hot, with little in between. Hers
was the latter and despite the fact that it was just below freezing outside,
we were greeted at the front door by Eve’s roomate, Helen, who was wearing a
T-shirt. Helen had heard of me thru Eve and was very friendly, asking about
her favorite talk show hosts at the station, some of whom I told her I did not
know beyond saying ‘hello’ in the hallways.

The champagne was nice, bubbles tickling our throats and noses and sliding
right up into our heads. Helen went off to her room to get dressed to go out.
She began taking off her shirt just before she got to her room and the flash
of firm back muscles and breast I got before she disappeared gave me a bit of
a rush.

We went into Eve’s room, sitting on the floor over a backgammon board. I play
only once every so often so I usually have to relearn a bit each time. Eve, on
the other hand, played like a grand master, as a Charlie Parker album
played in the background.

After an hour or so of play I was reaching for the dice, looking down at the
board when Eve’s hand came forward and stopped me. I looked up at her, she
looked at me, took my hand and kissed my on the palm. I leaned over, pulled
her slightly closer and kissed her, one hand moving onto her shoulder and
rubbing her there. Her hand went behind my head, ran through my hair and then
to my neck, finally fingers brushing me behind the ears. Her lips were very
full strong and warm. Wonderfully responsive, as kissing should be: both
loving and erotic.

We paused, she hesitated and then said, “Are you going to freak out if I tell
you that I’ve wanted to fuck you for the last two years?”

I smiled , she did likewise and then motioned with her head in the direction
of her bed.

We undressed slowly, stopping to kiss again, feeling a bit uncomfortable about
removing our attention from each other to deal with something as mundane as
taking off our clothes. We undressed ourselves and each other. We lay on the
bed in the warm apartment, the radiator hissing in the background, the Charlie
Parker tape still supplying a soundtrack. We lay on our sides, facing each
other and separated by only three or four inches. One set of hands near the
bed were held, fingers entwined, the other pair stroked each other’s back and
sides, slowly, learning new bodies and their uniqueness.

My free hand slid down her stomach and began very gently brushing her pubic
hair, first above her vagina and then lower, but still out side. The backs of

my fingers slowly moved through the silky fur. She parted her legs by sliding
her upper leg over mine. Her hand moved down and fingers gently encirled by
cock, which was beginning to harden in a serious way. For fifteen minutes we
lay there, her fingers holding my cock while her thumb slowly rubbed the
sensitive part below the underside of the tip. The backs of my fingers to
lightly brush the outside of her vagina, feeling her start to moisten. We
maintained almost constant eye contact.

As I felt wetness I let my middle finger protrude between her lips. Not
actualy inside, but between the edges of her lips, up to the edge of her clit.

She moved closer, and we began to kiss. Our mouths and tongues were more
insistant now, passionate rather than just friendly, reflecting what was
occurring below. Entwined fingers held each other tight as did tongues.

I slipped my middle finger inside and as soon as I did so her grip on my cock
tightened noticably in response. I stiffened and so did she. I slid the finger
in as far as it could go, sliding it slowly up and down the walls of her cunt,
turning the finger, moving it up to reach her clit. Wet finger against wet
clitoris.

I’m not sure if I pulled her over on top of me or whether she rolled over on
top, but that’s how we ended up. She planted her slit right on top of my now
hard dick and lay with her weight on top of me kissing deeply and moving
against me. Her arms crooked under my shoulders and mine curled around her
back. I wasn’t inside her but it was a missionary position in reverse.

Eve lifted herself off me ,straddling my body with one leg on each side. She
took my cock in her hand but did not impale herself. She held it and began to
slide her wet vagina up and down its length. She repositioned herself so that
my cock was lying flat against my stomach and her slit was right on top of it,
sliding up and down. I never realized how truly sensitive a cock is until I
realized how conscious I was of the lips of her vagina draped over my cock,
her inner lips pressing on the top. I looked up at her and saw that she was
thoroughly enjoying this, obviously getting some very effective clitoral
rushes from having the head and shaft of my cock rubbing her almost
constantly.

She bit her lip , her eyes half closed and was taken with what she was doing
to both of us. It was a very special feeling and I wondered whether I was
going to lose control and spurt all over my stomach.

Finally she raised herself up a bit, held my cock and placed the tip just
where she began. She looked down at me, stared into my eyes with a look only
people in this condition have, and, very, very, very slowly impaled herself.

I always find this sensation exquisate and this time it was even more so. I
felt that I could detect and warmth and contour of every fold inside her
vagina. When she reached bottom she paused and I felt consumed, firmly and
warmly held.

She began to move, slowly at first. Sometimes it was up and down drawing me in
and almost letting me slip out, then she rotated her hips for a while or
leaned forward a bit to wantonly rub her clit against my pubic bone. We went
on like this for a long time, slowly moving together.

Years ago I took mescaline and one of the interesting effects was the fact
that in the initial stages my entire body felt the way my cock does when it’s
hard and hot. I was lying on my bed and concentrated on my arms, my legs, my
torso, my neck and head. My entire body felt like a hard penis onits way to
orgasm.

Eve was placing me in the same state without drugs.

I lay there moving up aagainst her, drinking in the feeling and watching her
She was very high, now, breathing heavily, her hands on my chest supporting
her self, arms beginning to shiver slightly from the strain and the passion.
The muscles in her stomach were flexed, her ass was beginning to quiver and
her body in the candlelight was flushed pink.

I had been running my hands over her back and sides and rubbing her ass. Now I
reached up to cup her breasts, her nipples already very hard. I moistened my
fingers and held them against the sides of her nipples, gently rubbing, and
then lightly held the palms of my hands against them as they brushed as she
moved up and down.

She began to move faster and whispered to me to keep it up. I could feel
myself building in my balls. She was giving herself extra impact on her
downstrokes and her breathing was labored. She began whispering my name over
and over again and her fingers on my chest dug themselves in slightly, a bit
of pain mixing with the pleasure. I felt her muscles grab my cock tightly, her
back stiffened and she came, head shaking side to side. She tried to catch a
scream but didn’t succeed.

I didn’t even try. Two more strokes in her suddenly tightened cunt and I
followed her over the edge, tumbling down, just missing unconsciousness. When
she was finished she slumped on top of me kissing, licking whispering promises
of love and satisfaction. I kissed back and held her tight.

When we finally came down, lying there in the glow of lovemaking and the
hissing radiator, we looked out the window into the night. It had begun
snowing. Large beautiful flakes drifting slowly down to earth amidst the haze
of the streetlights. A wonder that can make even the dirty, deadly streets of
New York, new and beautiful. The blood and grime covered by the white cold
shining snow. Peace.

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