This is a sequel to Donna in the Senior Year, Chapter 1 and Chapter 2, and also to Season’s Greetings. I wrote most of this several months ago and am just now finishing it. It’s a rather downbeat story but as I mentioned there will be further developments in another story beyond this one.
As I started my final semester in January 1977 my somewhat desultory college career at the City College of New York started to come together.
I had always gotten good marks but I had drifted without direction while pursuing a B.A. in European history. During my senior year, I had considered getting a master’s degree in city planning. I hadn’t gotten my act together to be accepted for a September 1977 admission, but I figured I’d be able to work for a year, and then I’d be ready to attend for the next academic cycle. I was considering several schools within New York but I decided to be ambitious for once and try also try for the University Pennsylvania in Philadelphia.
My personal life seemed to be going well too. My undergraduate affairs — four of them — always resulted in me getting dumped for one reason or another. I put those behind me with the thought that we were all too immature for anything long-term.
Then in September 1976, I got the fifth one, a girl from another university — the misnamed Manhattan College in my home borough of the Bronx. I met a business major, Donna Azzato, at a party and we had hit it off. By the spring of 1977, I had the impression that this relationship had a potential that the previous ones had lacked. For one thing, I stayed faithful to Donna while earlier I had stumbled into “spinning plates” merely because I could get away with it.
There was one romantic anomaly but I put that into a separate category where such things didn’t count. In December of 1976, I got involved with a divorced professor in the history department, a forty-year-old woman named Marilyn Janssen. I rationalized it with the fact that she had been the one to initiate it. Both of us seemed to assume that my graduation would be the end of this thing. It had never been one of my goals, but I still impressed myself with the ability to snag a relationship with one of my teachers.
After graduation, I figured that Donna — who was also a senior at her school — and I would consider what was next for us. Donna already had rented her own apartment for more than a year. Would I move in with her? However, I wanted to try living independently for once and I might be able to do that if I had a full-time job.
The first priority in the spring of 1977 was to finish the last four required courses. In my previous seven semesters, I had only taken two incompletes and I had wrapped them up in a week or so. I didn’t expect any problems as I rounded the academic club-house turn.
In the spring, a new person, a freshman girl named Shelley Padilla joined my student newspaper The Salient. People usually joined at the beginning of the fall semester but occasionally they came in at other times.
This new Shelley person was about five-foot-four with dark, slightly curly hair. She had an impressive New York ethnic nose but that was common at my school. More notable were her dark eyes, which had a strange intensity. I couldn’t explain exactly why, but I felt a bit unnerved during the rare occasions when she looked at me.
She started attending staff meetings regularly but she had little to say. At one point she expressed an interest in news writing but she never accepted any assignments. Neither did she offer any ideas of her own.
The Salient was always short of writers who were willing to do any work whether it was assigned to them or if they came up with a concept of their own. Our publication styled itself as the countercultural/Bohemian alternative to the more conventional and much older paper, The Campus. She could have done just about any project she wished — an essay, short story, poem, even a cartoon — if she had come up with something.
A couple of the unattached guys on the paper speculated about her as a potential date but they didn’t approach her. I don’t remember her ever hanging out in the office between meetings. After two months no one seemed to know anything about her such as where she lived or what she was majoring in. People had seen her on the South Campus, so we assumed she must be in a liberal arts or social sciences program. Otherwise, she was a cipher, one of a least two dozen students I had seen join up and then fade away.
One afternoon in May around 6:00 PM I was sitting in The Salient office by myself. I was at one of the desks facing the door when I saw Shelley walk in. We said some brief greetings to one another. The only thing that seemed unusual was that she closed the door as she came in. Except for staff meetings the door was usually left open whenever the room was occupied.
I had been using my time to read The New York Times because I wasn’t in the mood to go home yet. ataşehir escort bayan My duties for the paper had dwindled as I approached graduation. Shelley walked over to an adjacent desk that faced mine and leaned against it. I noted that she was wearing a shirt open to reveal a pullover top, a blue denim skirt, and brown sandals.
She started a conversation about writing news stories, a half-hearted discussion lacking in any specifics. In the time since she had joined, we had exchanged only a few words and now I was replying mostly to be polite.
After about two minutes our talk seemed to have tapered off and I was glancing at the newspaper again.
Shelley said, “Would you come over here?”
I looked up. She had a serious expression but she wasn’t looking directly at me, “Okay, sure.” Being a somewhat gullible sort I often did whatever someone asked without a second thought. The fact that she was female added to my willingness. I got up and stood in front of her.
“A little closer than that.” If some guy had said that, I would have indeed been a bit skeptical. As it was I felt a twinge of suspicion about this person who was virtually a stranger to me. But since she was a woman I had enough trust to move closer. As I stepped forward she reached out and pulled me against her. Then she started kissing me on the lips. I put my arms around her and kissed her back. I didn’t think about it; I was twenty-one and caught by surprise.
In a few seconds, she surprised me again. She stepped back and sat on the desk, then she raised her skirt. I looked between her parted legs and saw her dark public bush; she wasn’t wearing panties.
My response was simple, “Oh.”
“I do have them right here, I mean my panties.” She reached into her bag and pulled them out, waving them in the air briefly. They were of some kind of shiny, satiny material with a complex red and purple design.
“You’re getting an erection, aren’t you?” I didn’t have to look; I could feel the front of my pants bulging out.”
I tried for some humor, “Of course, what did you expect?”
“You guys are all the same.” Maybe she was joking too, but I thought she had an annoyed tone. “Let me have a look.”
I stepped forward again and immediately she began to undo my pants. When my cock popped out she began stroking it. I dropped a hand down and put a finger into her cunt. She wasn’t dry, but she wasn’t dripping wet either – more like damp as I recall.
I moaned but she didn’t say a thing. When I was sufficiently stiff she guided me towards her crotch; then he moved my penis up and down so that the tip rubbed her vulva. I had a comment, “What, do you want some sex?”
“Of course, what else could it be?” She didn’t sound seductive or coy; her tone was like a dissatisfied customer haggling with a grocery store clerk. But despite her rudeness, I wanted to enter her immediately. Her flesh had a bit of resistance so I pushed to complete the coupling.
After that instinct took over. I did remember my girlfriend Donna. She’s such a great girlfriend, so good-natured and sexy, why are you screwing this other chick? I suppose some men would have turned down Shelley — but on that afternoon I wasn’t one of them.
I remembered that the office door isn’t locked. Well, it was too late to do anything about that now.
She leaned back slightly on the desk and I leaned forward to stay in her. I put one hand on her right leg to keep her steady; my other hand was flat on the desk to steady myself. Her hands held me around my middle, and her legs were raised and spread apart.
As usual, I liked to say things during intercourse, “Oh Shelley, I’m going to fuck you good, you slutty little girl,” and other statements of that nature. During those few minutes, she made no replies or any sounds at all — not one grunt or moan. She didn’t look at my face; instead, she kept her head down and her eyes closed.
As I approached orgasm my shoes slipped on the wooden floor as I pushed forward. Then I moaned loudly and rhythmically as I shot off into her. When I was spent I put my arms around her and held her. I had no evidence that she had taken any physical pleasure from what had just happened.
Then Shelley did something no other woman had ever done to me before; she pushed on me with enough force that I had to step back and pull out of her. It seemed impossible that any woman would reject post-coital cuddling. Well, there were a couple of exceptions during role-plays, but those had been playacting. This had been unnervingly real.
I found myself standing upright in the brightly-lit but dingy office, somewhat unbalanced, with my pants around my knees and my cock sticking out. My shaft was slick with our fluids. It was like one of those dreams where one finds oneself unexpectedly in a state of undress.
She didn’t look at me but down at herself, “Just I as expected, you left your load of scum in me.” I could see my cream-pie glistening escort kadıöy in her slit. What had she expected me to do — pull out and shoot on the desk or maybe onto her blouse? Before I could say anything she got up and took her bag; she moved towards the door.
“Where are you going?”
Well, I could see that. “Hey Shelley, let’s do it again; I’ll make sure you come this time.” Well, even at my horny young age, I would need a few minutes to recharge for another go at it.
“Yeah, I bet. You were pretty pathetic with that whole thing.” Again I heard the customer who had been charged the wrong price or gotten incorrect change.
Well, maybe a date would be better than sex right now. I said, “Let’s go down to the Village and get a drink or something. I’ll get us a cab.”
She shook her head and said something like, “Uh-uh.” To my amazement, she continued towards the door. That was something else new. I had never had a girl, after a bout of sex on campus or in some other offbeat place, turn down a proposal to hang out with me afterwards. At the very least they would want me to ride home with them.
I called out, “Shelley. . .”
She did turn around, “Just because I fucked you doesn’t mean I’m your girlfriend.” Then she opened the door and left, closing it behind her.
Whoa, that put me in my place. I quickly pulled my clothes together and sat down behind my original desk.
It had been sex without most of what made it sex. It was more abrupt than any porn scene I knew of. Perhaps it was like what some prostitutes would offer, but I had no experience with that. My most crass masturbation fantasies had more human interaction than this event had. During her entire time in the office, she hadn’t smiled once as far as I had noticed.
It seemed that the women I had been with before all were different sexually because of their varied personalities. What I had just done with Shelley seemed generic, just body parts interacting. I was surprised by this revelation; I thought that it was impossible to have sex so impersonal that it seemed to mean nothing.
How am I going to deal with this chick in the future on this paper? I knew about casual sexual encounters but I hadn’t heard of anything as abrupt as this one. I guessed that Shelley wasn’t even particularly interested in the sex per se but I couldn’t discern yet what her motives were. It hadn’t been some friendly fuck that I imagined — or rather fantasized — used to happen at hippie communes. She had seemed annoyed, even angry for the most part.
Even if it were only at staff meetings it would be sort of disturbing to have her around. She might be literally crazy, mentally unbalanced. I started to hope Shelley would quit and never come back.
I thought of Donna again, Yes, I had had some interesting arrangements in the past, like the two girlfriends who had a few threesomes with me. But my relationship with Donna was an exclusive one even if we hadn’t explicitly stated that. The time had come for something closer to maturity, I figured. My ex-girlfriends all had reached similar conclusions in their new affairs.
Were there really women who are nymphomaniacs? I wished I knew someone I could ask about it, but I knew no one with that kind of expertise.
Donna out of town for the weekend. During those two days, I considered Friday’s sudden coupling with Shelley. I speculated that most men would just screw whatever females were reckless enough to grab their cocks and pull them in. Perhaps I thought I was different, better than that. My shortest relationship had been for two months. I would have gladly gone on much longer with that one but the girl, Andrea Cartselos, had complications with an old fiancé wanting her back,
Around that time I had gotten involved with two other girls, Michelle Hanley and Judy Weinberg, who were best friends with each other. Yet I still thought that by the standards of my era I was a veritable romantic, a Jane Austen character like Mr. Darcy for the 1970s.
In the next week, I found out something different about myself. On Tuesday afternoon, around 5:30 PM, I was walking on South Campus between Finley and Wagner when Shelley came around the corner and approached me. She was neatly dressed in a gray plaid skirt and dark blue knee socks.
I greeted her with, “Hi Shelley, how are you doing?” as if she were a mere acquaintance from the paper or some class we had been in together. Actually, except for that sudden coupling on Friday, she was indeed a mere acquaintance.
She responded, “Is there someplace we could go right now?” I tried to discern some clue from her expression and tone of voice, but I couldn’t come up with anything. It would have been the same if she had asked me the date of the next staff meeting.
“A place for what?”
“Don’t be an idiot, you know what I mean.” I recoiled from her insult but I was also looking her over from her hair to her shoes and maltepe escort back again. Already I grasped that I could be seduced.
I said, “There’s a men’s room on the second floor of Wagner, but . . .”
She didn’t answer, but immediately turned and headed for the outside stairs into the building. I followed her, sniffing for the pussy that I knew could be had.
“Hey, what’s with the schoolgirl look?”
“Your knee socks I mean.”
On the stairs, I moved to hold her hand but she pulled it away. That was remarkable because I had never known a girl if she had even the slightest interest in me, who didn’t like holding hands.
We went up the interior stairs without saying anything more. On the second floor, I opened the door to the restroom, “Wait here a moment, I’ll check it.” There was no one in there so I went back to retrieve her. “We’ve really got to be quiet in here.”
“I know, I’m not stupid.” What a nasty bitch she was turning into, but I still pointed to the last stall, the one furthest from the door.
Once in there she started undoing my pants as she had done before, except she had skipped the kissing stage. I wanted some affection so I held her upper arms and moved to smooch with her. She turned her head so I would up with a clot of her hair in my mouth.
I was determined to get some emotion or at least an acknowledgment from her. “Shelley, you’re such a cool girl, I really like you.”
She made a noise of impatience or disbelief as if to say, oh come on, really? I think she grasped that I was mostly lying. Without any further preliminaries, she turned around and lifted her skirt. I said, “Looks like you forgot your panties again.”
“I didn’t forget them, they’re in my bag.”
With that, she got down to her business. As she was bent over, holding the pipes in the back for balance, she pushed her bare hips again my bare crotch to fluff me. I considered from spite that I just wouldn’t get an erection but my body betrayed me. She did a very thorough job of it, pushing back and then rotating her ass against me. In a minute or so she said, “Are you ready yet?”
I answered with a moan. She said, “Then take me from behind.” I held my own cock and guided it in. Like before, she was damp but not that wet. And also like before, she made no sounds as I began thrusting; thus I only had to worry about the noises I was making myself. I was reminded of dogs copulating in the park and I said quietly, “Bow-wow.”
“Never mind, I was just kidding.”
I held her hips to move her as needed. It was sex as mere biology plus physics; enough rubbing against the inside of her vagina brought me to my climax in the minimum possible time of a few minutes. I opened my mouth wide but tried to keep my yell down to a strangled, almost whispered squawk. Then I said, “Your sweet pussy, Shelley, I love coming in you.”
This attempt at praise didn’t seem to register with her. After I had ejaculated, he pulled herself forward so that I fell out of her. The last of my cum was still coming out of me and it dripped on the floor She quickly turned around and went through her bag, finding a pair of white cotton panties inside. I was truly curious and even though I was breathing heavily I managed to say, “Why are you putting them on now?”
“That’s so if you’re scum starts dripping out it won’t run down my legs.” Scum, like on the surface of a pond. When she had them on, she made a gesture so that I might step aside. “Excuse me.”
I wanted to delay her for a moment while I pulled my pants together. “Shelley, what’s going on?”
“What’s going on? It should be obvious.” She pushed past me to get the stall door open and to get herself out. I followed her and just left my books on the floor.
“Shelley, this just isn’t right.”
“Why do you even care?”
We were both surprised as a guy, a student I didn’t know, came into the room as we were going out. He did a double-take as he passed her but he didn’t say anything.
In the hallway, I said, “Shelley . . .”
She did stop to glare at me, “You’ve blown your load, now what more do you want?”
I couldn’t answer because I really didn’t know what I wanted. It was as if I liked super-casual sex but I wanted to eat some of my cake too. I suspected she was making a brutally honest but mostly accurate assessment of my intentions.
It seemed hopeless so I let her go; she went to the stairs leading to the first floor. I went back to get my books and the other guy was still there, facing away from me as he pissed into a urinal against the far wall. He did glance at me but he stayed silent. I thought, that old college spirit, raccoon coats, bathtub gin, and necking with a girl in the rumble seat of a Packard touring car.
Rather stupidly I then dashed out of the building to find her. Of course, she wasn’t there, having gone in any of three possible directions. I didn’t see her on the path leading north, so I went around the corner of Finley to go west. I went all the way down the driveway to the Convent Avenue gate and I looked along the block outside that led to Amsterdam Avenue. There was no Shelley with her blue knee socks and her cunt full of my semen.