Protected By Lentz Trucking

I did have an inspiration. "Have you ever been to The Cloisters? It's not a long ride from here." The Cloisters was a museum of Medieval Art maintained by the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

"That would be great. I haven't been there in at least six years." That was about the same for me.

I looked at her high-heeled shoes and said, "You're not going to be comfortable walking around in those."

"Not to worry; I have a pair of sandals in my bag." And indeed she did, sturdy looking ones with thick soles.

She got in the front with me and we drove off and left the trucks that had provided us with such excellent protection for our escapade. It wasn't the first time these admirable lorries had done this; they have provided similar privacy for our first stunt in Brooklyn. And I had parked with various girls in cars over the years and trucks parked on commercial streets had given us some cover there too.

As we drove out of the lot I asked here, "Aren't you going to put your panties back on?" I already knew the answer but I wanted to hear her explain it.

She was in her talkative, frisky post-sexual - actually now it was truly post-coital - mood.

"I've never told you that I like being out and about without panties."

"You mentioned it a little while ago."

"Yes, sometimes I'm wearing a garter-girdle like now, but as I said, sometimes I have a skirt or dress with nothing underneath. After a few minutes out I get so turned on that I can hardly stand it. My pussy gets so wet it's virtually dripping."

"Why don't you do this for me some time?"

"I am, sweetie, right now." It seemed that I had known her longer than a few weeks. She continued, "Sometimes I sit on a park bench and imagine what men would think if they knew what I was doing. Sometimes I imagine that someone, maybe a cop, will discover my lack of underwear and spank me right there on the bench where everyone could see me. That would be both so shameful and so delightful at the same time."

"Do you ever flash guys?"

"I guess I'm too cautious. I cross my legs and push them together so that my cunt is compressed."

"Do you ever have an orgasm that way?

"No, but when I get home I masturbate like crazy. The first time, the merest few flicks of my clit and I go off."

I was getting erect again just imagining this. Today we really should go to her apartment later for that proper fucking she had mentioned before.

She seemed to still be chatty, so I asked her a question. "Why do some girls like being spanked so much?" Not all of them of course, but those that did were often wild for it.

To my surprise she had an answer, "Because being hit on the buttocks causes blood to flow into that area, and it makes the genitals tingle. That is particularly true of the vulva and vagina, which are more exposed in that position."

It was such a clinical explanation and yet I was impressed. "Thank you Professor Sykes; you really know your subject."

We drove west and then north under the abandoned hulk of the elevated West Side Highway. Then we were up on the Henry Hudson Parkway. It was a splendid late spring day and the sun shone on the Hudson River. Holly sat close to me and had an arm around my shoulders. This was usual when we were leaving the scene of one of our indiscretions.

Now she commented on our vehicle, "This is certainly a strange car."

"Yeah, it's sort of primitive I'd say, like a Russian truck. But the view from the driver's seat is great."

In another mile or so I said, "There's City College up there" and I pointed up the hill on the right side. The only building visible was the modern but ugly Science Building.

"Have you ever been there?"

She replied, "Not in years; I've heard it's pretty shabby now."

"That's mostly true, but it's still my school. The Harvard of the Proletariat is what it used to be nicknamed. You don't necessarily need a fancy campus."

I thought more about it, "Actually, the South Campus, which used to be Manhattanville College, is sort of bucolic." And it was doomed too; there were long term plans to demolish it, but it would take years to finally do that and replace it.

We reached the museum which was located on one of the highest points in Manhattan. We especially like the various courtyards, or "cloisters," which had been built with architectural features salvaged from old or damaged European buildings.

Afterwards we bought ice-cream sticks and strolled around the grounds. We stood leaning on a wall and we looked up and down the length of the river from Jersey City to the Tappan Zee Bridge.

For some reason the topic of Henry Hudson came up; he was the first European to sail all the way up the river. Holly pondered that and asked, "I wonder if he said anything significant about it."

It was quite impressive where we were; the high cliffs of The Palisades were on the opposite shore. I vaguely remembered a quote and I repeated it, "One cannot fly like an eagle with the wings of a wren."

Actually, I had screwed up and I had quoted somebody from the 19th Century with a similar name to Hudson's. I didn't mean to, but Holly seemed to like it anyway.

I thought more about her as we stood there holding hands across the top of the wall. The afternoon sun shone on our faces. She looks even more attractive out here in the open. Previously I had mostly seen her in vehicles and buildings. Plus, she had the advantage of not wearing panties; they were stowed somewhere in her white bag.

Meanwhile, she had forgotten all about her fictional financial problems. I gave her a pat on her fanny. "Hey, be careful, it's a little sore down there."

I almost apologized but I didn't. "You took it all pretty well. By the way . . ."

She noticed my hesitation. "Yes, what is it?"

"I'd like to come down to your apartment later today and have something more than potato salad like I did last week. And I do love your retro look with the garter and straps."

"All right, I see where your mind is at. And yes, sometimes the older ways were better. And you'll definitely be seeing more of it this summer."

"You know our relationship is different now." I was going to say we had fully consummated it. Instead I said, "I'd say we busted its cherry but good."

She laughed at that, "Relationships don't have cherries to bust - although, okay, I get it. You must really want to fly like an eagle."

"'Fly like an eagle, let my spirit carry me.'" The song had only been released a couple of weeks earlier. I put my arms out and started to flap them.

"I've got all my feathers in and I'm ready to go."

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