I'd had an extraordinary run of luck ever since I'd gotten back to New York City. From the last week in February to now, the first week in August, I'd bedded 16 women. Since I was working in one political campaign after another and it was 1970 (that is, the end of the 60s), they just kept marching up to me, one after the other. Of the 16, only five were still in college. The rest were older, in their twenties and working, closer to my age of 27.
When I was teaching on the student ship, I'd gone through a phase of wanting nothing but virgins. They were very willing and full of energy but sexually naïve and easily shed, because I insisted they learn how to please future lovers.
Now I was thinking about a relationship where my mind didn't wander to getting out of it. Because campaign work paid poorly and didn't last long, I was looking for a teaching job but had no luck. A friend who worked for the city said I might get a job through the Mayor's office but not until after the first of the year.
It was a hot August Saturday morning and I was in charge of getting volunteers out on the streets of Manhattan to solicit signatures on petitions. I'd asked every one I knew to lend a hand, including a college friend, who asked if he could bring his girlfriend along.
"Sure, Larry, so long as she's registered to vote."
"Absolutely! She's very anti-Vietnam war and wants to get an anti-war Senator elected."
All the volunteers were given a clipboard and a stack of blank petitions. We asked everyone to come back to our 57th Street headquarters by two o'clock with their signed petitions, so we could log them in.
Larry and his girlfriend didn't get back until almost three, but they made up for it by having more completed petitions than anyone else. And no wonder — the girlfriend was a stunner. She was 5-foot-7 with shoulder-length black hair. She stood very tall and her flawless complexion, almost perfectly oval face, and sharp outfit of slacks and a short-sleeved blouse made her a standout for the work.
"Pete, Ellen is fearless! She just goes right up to people and won't take 'no' for an answer. She got so many people willing to sign that she passed them off to me and kept on going. How many did we get?"
"We'll have to count them, but your stack is the biggest I've seen all week."
"I can't stay. I have to work most of the weekend at the agency on a presentation that's due Monday."
"Ellen, can you stay to help count these? We have to close up pretty soon."
"Sure, I've got all day."
She plunked herself down on the office floor and started counting. Every girl I've ever known would sit on the floor by kneeling, then sitting back on her heels. Ellen knelt but then splayed her legs out, keeping her knees properly together. The result was breath-taking.
My log-in system was to pencil a sequential number for the petition in the upper left corner and write the number of valid signatures in the upper right corner. The name of the witness and the totals of sheets and signatures were put on a cover sheet, the petitions were clipped together, and everything was logged in a ledger book. It was simple but detailed work that I wasn't in the habit of letting unknown volunteers do, but there were so many petitions that I needed the help.
Ellen caught on and between the two of us we had what should have taken me three hours finished in one.
"You're good. Want a job?" I said to her. I didn't have that authority, but I figured she was already working.
"Thanks, Peter, but I already have one, at Sullivan Brothers. Probably pays better anyway."
"What's Sullivan Brothers?"
It's a very big brokerage firm. We have four floors in the World Trade Center. I work in the swaps department, where we manage accounts of clients who have to keep a certain amount of bonds on hand for liquidity purposes. We know what their position is and, if we have a client who wants to sell a bond that has a higher yield than another client has it in its portfolio, we will swap them. We make money when we re-sell the bond. It's intricate but very lucrative."
And you're a swapper?"
"I'm a registered broker, yes, but I work for the head of the department, mostly logging the deals and managing the details. So your system makes perfectly good sense to me."
I was in love.
Since Larry had essentially turned Ellen over to me, I suggested we walk up to Central Park and get an ice cream. We found a shady spot under a tree and talked.
"I graduated from Smith in '69 with a major in economics. I really like campaigning. In the '68 election we had an all-Smith group that toured western Massachusetts with the anti-war candidate for Congress. We went ahead of the candidate and entertained the crowd until the candidate arrived.
"We had this routine when we bought gas. When the attendant came up to the driver's side we'd surprise him by sing 'a dollar's worth of gas' over and over. It was a hoot!
"I got a secretary's job at Sullivan, which sounds more insulting than it was, since everybody there, including Billy Sullivan, the chairman's son, started in the mailroom. I took the classes for my brokerage license and scored higher than Billy." She beamed.
"Manny in swaps got me assigned to his group. It's very high pressure work, because if the ticket for each swap isn't right we can either lose money on the deal or lose the client because he thinks we're cheating him."
We went to dinner at a small restaurant near my Upper East Side apartment. Ellen lived in a house in the East Village with several friends, one of whom was the owner. She shared a room.
"I want to get a place in Brooklyn Heights, so I can take the subway directly to work. Now I have to walk pretty far to the subway, go four stops, then walk all the way over to the Trade Center. But it's really tough finding a place there."
I invited her to see my place, which was a large studio, to compare it to what she had seen in Brooklyn. My apartment was a walkup on the third floor, but it was safe, had an air conditioner, and by New York City standards was inexpensive. We talked real estate and various neighborhoods for a while. She was adamant about Brooklyn Heights.
It was after nine when she said she had to catch a train to Westchester because she had promised her parents that she would have brunch with them.
"I'll drive you. You'll have to navigate, though, since I've only driven through Westchester, going somewhere else."
Her parents' house was in Ardsley, where she had grown up. They weren't there when we arrived but would be soon.
"When you come to the city tomorrow, will you call me? I'd like to have dinner again." I wrote my number on a scrap of paper.
"That sounds nice, Peter, I'll call from Grand Central." I kissed her and she returned it.
When she called around three, Ellen was at the 77th Street station, close to my apartment. "There's an exhibit at the Frick I'd like to see. Can I drop my stuff at your place?"
"Sure, come on over."
We walked to the museum but arrived so near to closing time that we couldn't see the entire exhibit. We walked into Central Park and sat on a stone wall to people-watch, and talked some more.
"Larry said you went to Dartmouth, just a year ahead of him. I went there for Carnival once. You guys really like snow."
"I really do. But New York's where I want to be." I explained about the temporary nature of campaign work and the small staffs that legislators had, which made any job prospects in politics dim.
"I'd really like to teach, but I'm thinking of going to work for the City. I've got a friend who thinks I can get a job there, but they're not hiring until after the first of year. I'm committed to the campaign until November, but after that, maybe I can swing it."
We walked back to my apartment along the side streets, talking about how much we liked the crowded neighborhoods, with all their shops. In the dusty window of a pawn shop she spotted a small Georg Jensen piece.
"I really like his jewelry. I'll have to come back here."
The air conditioning was welcome after the heat of the sidewalks. I liked to have visitors take off their shoes to keep the street grit off my rug. I slipped out of my loafers and knelt down to help her with her sneakers. I stroked the instep of her foot and she responded, slightly.
When I stood and reached for her, she was ready. We kissed long and hard, her tongue meeting mine and her hips coming into my erection with no hesitation.
We sat on the daybed and worked each other's shirts off pretty quickly. We were breathing heavily as I manfully failed to find the catch on back of her bra.
"It opens in the front. Here," she said, and popped her two lovely melons out. She tossed the bra on top of our shirts on the chair.
We lay beside each other. I kissed her nipples and soon she was "ummmm"-ing and "aaaah"-ing. She tickled my nipples, first with her finger and then with her tongue. She ran her fingers through my beard to my earlobes and stuck her tongue in my ear. I quivered, since that was a very sensitive place.
