"Peter, I've got an extra ticket for the Streisand concert. Would you like to go?"
Ordinarily I wouldn't be caught dead at a Barbra Streisand concert, but there were two reasons why I'd set that scruple aside now: Laura was really attractive and this was a fundraising concert, because Streisand was campaigning hard for my candidate, Bella Abzug, in the Democratic primary. It was May, 1970.
"Good seats?" That was dumb, and I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth.
"Not really," she said, downcast. "It's the low-price area."
I'm sorry," I said, trying to retrieve the situation. "I just didn't want you to be out a lot of money. I know you're still in college."
The show was at the Palladium, on 14th Street. Streisand could really pack people in, and there were a lot of faces Laura and I recognized from the newspapers. She put on a good show and got a couple of name singers to join her on stage, which enhanced things and got a very favorable review in the Post the next day.
"Laura Pigtails," as I thought of her, was a junior at Cornell who had walked into campaign headquarters at the beginning of the month and was around almost every day, doing whatever had to be done She favored gray sweatshirts and jeans and was several inches shorter than me. Her lovely oval face and the longest braid of hair I'd ever seen on a woman on the streets of New York made her seem quite young.
I'd joined the campaign as the scheduler, tasked to move the candidate around the district. I got her into senior centers, community meetings, and waterfront bars. She rode commuter buses, stood outside subway stops, and accosted people in movie theater lines. It was a difficult job, not technically but because the candidate was by nature undisciplined and abusive. The only reason I hadn't quit was because I couldn't get a word in edgewise as one campaign manager after another resigned first. Also, I needed the money.
After the concert Laura and I went to a nearby café and talked. She was a native New Yorker, a graduate of one of the snitzy private schools on the West Side, and went to Cornell because her father was a professor at Columbia and could get a reduced tuition rate at an in-state school.
My relationship with Carol, my assistant scheduler, was pretty much over and I was looking for someone new. Laura was lively enough to hold her own in the super-charged political talk of the campaign; feminist enough not to fall into the snares of the hyper-feminist and lesbian battles that raged around us few male workers; and she was really cute.
"Are you working the flatbed shows Streisand is doing this weekend, Laura?"
"The 10 o'clock one, in the Village. I'll be a block away with the flyers that some idiot produced spelling her name 'Barbara.' We can't afford to print new ones but if she sees them she'll flip out."
"Uh, that idiot was me." Somehow it never sank in with me about how she liked her name spelled, so I'd written, approved, and paid for the 5,000 flyers without consulting anyone.
"You are really lucky that Bella needs you. She's furious and if she ever found out —"
"Please don't tell her! She'll hang me up by my balls! I really need this job."
Laura laughed. "Deal."
"Thanks. Are you going to jump up to the third concert when you're finished in the Village?"
"Nope, the Upper West Side volunteers are doing that. One appearance and I'm done for the weekend."
"Great. I'll have the Sunday-Monday-Tuesday schedule done by then. Want to see a movie?"
"At 10 o'clock?"
"Sure. There are a couple of the chain theaters on the East Side where the first show is 9:30 or 10."
So early on Saturday morning that the sun wasn't up I was coming back from our Brooklyn printers with 5,000 reprinted flyers for the Village show. Bella was beside herself and demanded they be reprinted. I probably still had my job because I had a car and could drive to Brooklyn and come back with that much printing in time.
I had no time to return the car to the parking garage space I rented down by the piers before my date with Laura. Instead, I found a parking spot near the movie theater where we had agreed to meet.
"A car? You keep a car in New York? Are you rich?"
"I really like the freedom it provides. I can visit my friends in Vermont and New Hampshire whenever I want, provided Bella lets me have the time off. And parking at the piers is cheap, it just takes an hour-and-a-half to get back to my apartment by subway."
I don't remember what the movie was. I suggested we get lunch.
"Come to my apartment. I'll make lunch."
Laura lived with her parents in one of the newly constructed coops on the West Side. We circled the block three times before we found a spot just large enough to fit my VW. As we walked to her apartment we saw a brass plaque embedded in the pavement. It memorialized Michey Schwerner, who had been murdered in 1964 during Mississippi Freedom Summer and who had grown up in the neighborhood.
We took off our shoes in the vestibule, as her parents didn't want road dirt tracked into the apartment. Laura excused herself to change out of her campaign outfit (Bella liked the clean-cut look for her street workers), so I had a chance to look around.
The huge living room window provided a spectacular view of the Hudson. There was a good-sized living-dining room, an eat-in kitchen, a master suite with bath, two other bedrooms, and a bathroom down the hall. Her father used one of the bedrooms as an office since her older brother had gotten married and moved out. Because the apartment was on a high floor, even the impending construction of a building on the empty ground to the immediate west of this building wouldn't impede the view.
Laura returned in her regular Cornell outfit and quickly set about whipping up a monster mushroom omelet. In the course of conversation she dropped the fact that her parents were out of town visiting friends and wouldn't be back until late Sunday.
"That was delicious. Do you like to cook?"
"Actually, this is one of the few things I do well. I live in a coop in Ithaca and have to take my turn in the kitchen, so I've learned a few things. I serve a really good beer, though," and we laughed.
I wanted to get a ground-eye view of the Hudson from the lot next to her building, so we took the elevator down to the basement and went out the service door.
The 2 o'clock sun was so blazingly hot that it took my breath away. I nearly fainted. Laura had to guide me into the basement and up the elevator to her apartment. I was still pretty shaky as she made me lie down on her bed. She wrapped my head in a cold towel and closed the curtains. I fell asleep.
It was dark in the room and I needed to pee. As I came out of the bathroom I heard rattling in the kitchen and I padded in on Laura washing dishes and singing to herself.
I couldn't help it.
I lifted her pigtail over her head and, when she turned around, kissed her. She jumped away but ran into the sink.
"Oh Peter, you started me!"
"I'm sorry, Laura, it was just too lovely to pass up. I've wanted to have that pigtail in my hands since I met you."
"And the kiss?"
"All part of the service —" which was interrupted by her mouth on mine.
Lips locked, we staggered back to the living room and sat down on the couch. My tongue met hers and they wrestled, inconclusively. I put my hands under her sweatshirt and found she had no bra on, but before I could do anything about it she pulled away and stood up.
"Peter, this isn't what — damn — I can't — just because — "
"Sit down beside me, Laura." She sat, her hands folded in her lap.
"Do you know why I came here?"
"The offer of food?"
"Well, yes, but also because I am very attracted to you."
"Can I kiss you again?"
We started on the couch but soon slid down to the floor, which was a fluffy beige carpet. Once engaged, Laura was not hesitant as we kissed and fondled. I took her sweatshirt off, revealing a pair of smallish breasts that she was willing to let me kiss, fondle, and suckle.
She undid my shirt and pulled it off. At which point I rolled her on top of me and asked her to lightly sweep her breasts against my chest as I held her hips at just the right height. She balanced herself and did a fine job.
"Is it okay to go to your room, Laura?"
She stood and took my hand, leading me back down the hall. She swung me in, turned, and locked the door. I moved to her as she turned the lock and took her breasts from behind, squeezing them lightly and pressing my pelvis into her buttocks. Her pigtail got in the way.
"I want to see all you hair, spread out on your pillow. May I undo your pigtail?"
"I take it down every night and re-braid it. It's my best attribute," she said. She showed me the clip that held the ends and, with a couple of head shakes, her full black mane was free.
From in front of her I reached and took as much of it as I could and raised it to my face, and inhaled. It wasn't the smell so much as the knowledge that she would let me get that intimate with her that I wanted, and she was more than agreeable.
Letting go of her hair, I reached for her jeans and unbuttoned the top. Next the zipper went down and she was standing in her white panties. I slowly lowered them to the floor.
"Please take my pants off, Laura," I said. She moved to me and quickly the belt was undone, the button unbutoned, the fly zipped down, and my jeans and jockeys were on the floor. Only my cock stood, stiffly, between us.
I had her turn around. She was lovely and I said so.
"Thank you, Peter. This is my debut." Then she gasped, trying to take the words back.
"I mean, you're pretty good yourself."
"Laura . . . ."
"Would you like to make love?"
Her answer was to move hard against me, taking my cock in her left hand and grabbing my head with her right hand, pulling me to her face. My hands moved to her ass to squeeze her buttocks and bring her to me.
Eventually we unlocked, breathing hard.
We took each other to bed. We kissed everywhere.
I moved my finger into her pussy and found her appropriately wet. As I lowered myself between her legs she took a deep breath and said "Wait."
"Peter, I've never — I'm — "
I was surprised. "Laura, have you ever made love?"
She paused for just a little bit, then said "No."
"Well, you had me fooled." She blushed. I knew I could have said that better.
"Virgins don't usually grab a guy's cock the way you did." That was bright also, and now she was getting tense.
"Laura, let's start over. I want to treat you right."
"Peter, I want to be your lover, I don't want you to think of me as some virgin you have to be careful with."
"You are a virgin and I am going to be careful with you. But by tomorrow night, when you parents get home, you'll know as much about making love as they do, maybe more."
We sat together on the edge of the bed.
"Laura, turn around and look at me. I want to see your face, you breasts, your pussy when we're talking."
She shifted and faced me, pulling her legs up under her so she was sitting in that way girls do, knees more than slightly open under their skirts. Only she wasn't wearing a skirt.
"Are you using any birth control?"
"No." I considered how lucky I was.
"Where are you on your cycle?"
"My period's due early next week. I know I'll be safe."
"You're right, but since we're going to be lovers, next week you should go to Planned Parenthood on 54th Street and get on the pill. Will you do that on Monday?"
"Well, there's a problem."
"My mother runs that clinic."
"Oh," I recovered. "Is there another one?"
"Yes, in Brooklyn."
"Okay. You'll go there?"
My cock had deflated and I saw Laura looking at it, flaccid on my leg, with concern.
"Is there a towel somewhere that your mom won't miss?"
"I have a school towel in my gym bag." She retrieved it from the closet and said "Why?"
"When we make love the first time there will be some blood from your hymen. We don't want to mess up your sheets."
This turn of conversation revived my ardor and Laura noticed.
"You're getting big again."
"Just for you," and I kissed her. We spread the towel and rolled onto the bed and kissed and sucked and fondled just as we had before.
This time when I got between her legs, she grabbed my cock.
"Wet your fingers, Laura, really slobber on them, wet down my cock so it will go into you easily." She did an excellent job but got so involved that she nearly stroked me into cumming.
"Help! Save me from this amorous wench! Make her stop! Anybody, please, save me!"
The silliness made her laugh, which relaxed her legs and soon allowed me to get the head half way into her pussy before she realized any pain.
"Ooohh, Peter, that feels good but it hurts. Can you stop?"
I pulled back slowly.
"When I go back in again, promise you will tell me how it feels?"
She held off until the head was completely inside her, then said, "it hurts, Peter, but that is stupid, finish it, please, I don't want to wait." In two thrusts I was all the way in, even as she "oh ouch ouch" really loud.
When our coupling settled into her mind, she looked up questioningly at me. "Laura, there's more, I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable."
"I've got a cock in my pussy, my lover between my legs, and I'm rarin' to go."
I started slowly and showed her how to rise and drop her hips. I told her how much it turned me on that she would speak to me about what she was feeling.
"Even if it's mmmmm or ooooooh, encourage me or tell me what to change."
I upped the pace and watched as she changed from pushing up by leveraging her arms to lifting her hips using her back. She grabbed my body and swung her head from side to side. Her mouth hung open and a little drool to come out. I kissed her and took the drool in my mouth.
"Peter, this is sooooo good, are you feeling me?"
"Your pussy is so warm, so wet, so much where I want to be. You're going to make me cum."
Do it, do — " and she slipped out of language as a wave of pleasure washed over her. I could see the surprise as her eyes became circles and the sweat glistened in her hair.
I came in a blast, pushing in more and more cum, crashing into her pussy with my thrusts. She took it all and kept humping until I begged her to stop.
I rolled off her to the side, taking care to stay inside, and lapped at her face, tasting the salt of her sweat. She clutched my shoulders.
"Oh wow, Peter, I'd heard about this but I never expected to do it until I was at least 15."
Cold fear stabbed me in the chest.
She roared with delight. "Gotcha! It's the only time I'll ever be able to use that." I was saved.
We reviewed the damage to the towel. A decent amount of blood was mixed with the surprising amount of cum and her juices. Still, she needed cleaning up, as did I, so we walked across the hall to the bathroom with her cupping her opening to stop the dribble from hitting the carpet. I washed her legs and pussy with a warm cloth and watched as she shyly peed. I had her stand in front of me and hold my cock between her legs as I peed.
To prevent any damage to her sheets, Laura pulled out a blanket she had in her closet and laid it down on the bed for our second session. I had her lay back on the bed and array her hair across the pillow. My dangling cock and I stood slack-jawed at the foot of the bed and gaped at her. She was so . . . beautiful.
"Move around to the side of the bed, Peter," and as I did so she adjusted into a version of Goya's Maja Desnuda. She enhanced its eroticism by sliding her index finger into her pussy and raising it to her lips, licking it and "mmmm"-ing.
"You do that regularly?" I bungled again. "I mean, you like that?"
"Never did it before, Peter. I play with myself a lot, because you never were in my life before. But now —"
"You are going to teach me an awful lot about making love in the next 24 hours before mom and dad arrive. Teach me, lover."
My cock was up again, not really hard but good enough for inspection. I sat down and she adjusted herself so that her face was facing my cock.
"Have you ever had — I mean, this is a penis. Note that the shaft has no real use except to carry the head, which is the most sensitive piece of a male except his ego." She snorted.
"The subject penis before you is circumcised, which means that useless skin that was there at birth was removed by a skilled mohel in a Christian hospital. The head is divided in two parts, back here," and I twisted around to show her.
"Skilled females use this information to drive men crazy by simple manipulations of their hands, their mouths, and their pussy. For example, if for some reason you decided right now to take this poor penis into your mouth and rub your tongue around its throbbingness, I would likely dissolve me into a pool of gratitude."
"Put that way," she said, and she shifted beside me and began her education. By dinner time the next day I could barely walk out of the apartment.