During the 1974-75 academic year, there was a fellow sophomore at the City College of New York named Judith Weinberg. She was a modern European history major like I was, and she lived with her parents on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.
I met her because she was a friend of Michelle Hanley, one of my girlfriends at the time. Judy made some moves on me and I, being a callow youth - or maybe just a cad - responded to her. Judy had said then, “We’re both making up for lost time,” referring to our completely dateless freshman years and the endless dry spell of high school before that. I was her first boyfriend and she was eager to catch up on missed experiences.
Michelle shared our youthful fecklessness and we wound up being a threesome on several occasions in mid-1975. On one hot Sunday afternoon, the two of them had me photograph them in compromising positions up in Bear Mountain State Park. (I still have some of those pictures but I rarely look at them now.) Of course, the situation was unstable and it didn’t last beyond the end of the year, but that’s a story for another time.
Judy didn’t look like the wild lady she really was. She was short and a bit plump and had frizzy, unruly reddish-brown hair. However, I thought she was very sexy and I was enthralled with her during the time we were together.
***
On an evening at the beginning of October 1975, I walked into the café in Finley Hall to meet her. Before she noticed me I got a moment to check her out as she sat at a table. She had been going for the “Joanie Co-ed” look now, as Michelle called it. Her friend had invented this concept and introduced her to it in the spring. Tonight she had a white pullover blouse, a dark skirt, and black knee socks. I had loved knee socks since my days back at P.S. 82. I admired them for a moment; they may have been cotton but they were definitely thinner than the ones she had worn at other times. The weather that week was still quite warm.
Overall, Judy had a nice combination of sexy and innocent going on. I thought that I would have noticed her even if hadn’t already known her. She hadn’t noticed me yet; she was looking through some papers as she had her coffee. I brought my soda over.
“Hi, do you mind if I sit here?”
She feigned surprise, “Oh sure, go ahead.”
After we had chatted a bit I decided to make my next move, “Are you hungry? Because I borrowed Michelle’s car and it’s just outside; we could get something to eat.”
Judy knew that I sometimes had Michelle’s Dodge, so she wasn’t surprised. She didn’t have to think a long time, “Sure, that’s fine. Where should we go?”
“There’s Arthur Avenue in the Bronx, it’s . . ."
“I’ve been there. But I live on the West Side.”
“I'll drive you home afterwards, no big deal.” That was pretty much expected here. Even if she was going to Staten Island I couldn’t just leave her at South Ferry.
But she said, “That sounds great; let’s go.”
She was a little ahead of me as we walked out. Her skirt was tight enough to show the curve of her ass. I thought, my Judy is just such a ripe little girl.
I did intend to have dinner with her but I had another event planned too. I decided to keep that as a surprise.
****
Michelle’s 1971 Dodge Coronet was outside on St. Nicholas Terrace. Once in the car I wasn’t sure of the route I would take. Arthur Avenue was an Italian neighborhood in the Bronx known for its many restaurants and stores. I drove across the 145th Street bridge and on a whim, I turned south on the Major Deegan Expressway. Judy asked to play the radio and she came up with Carly Simon’s “Attitude Dancing.” I thought it wasn’t Simon’s best song. However, every straight man in America loved the cover of Playing Possum - and some who weren’t straight probably appreciated the aesthetics of it.
Judy seemed relaxed as we went crosstown on the lower Deegan and then uptown on the Bruckner Expressway. We talked about my family’s roots in this part of the Bronx.
My plan was to park somewhere with Judy and, if she was up for it, do whatever we could get away with. We had done that a few times in my father’s 1968 Pontiac Bonneville but never in the Dodge. This was the first time I was going to surprise her but I thought the odds were that she’d go along with it. If not, we’d defer it for some other time.
The Sheridan Expressway would have been the ideal route to where I said we were going. Instead, I stayed to the right and kept going along the Bruckner. My idea was to get off around Zerega Avenue and find a spot among the warehouses and factories.
“Is this near Arthur Avenue?”
I wasn't going to confirm or deny that, “Ah, sort of.”
She said, “Oh, I get it. You’re looking for a place to park with me, aren’t you?”
Instead of apologizing I knew to make light of it, “Ok, it did cross my mind.”
“Then find a place and let’s park.”
“We could eat first if you really want to.”
She smiled at me, “No, this is fine. Let’s go.”
It was fully night at this point. I knew there was an advantage here over suburban or rural lovers’ lanes. Those places were known to attract officious cops, peeping Toms and other nosy pests. In the city, there were hundreds of thousands, probably millions of vehicles parked on the streets overnight. If one was discreet, there was no reason for any one car to be singled out for attention.
My times out with Judy and other girls had given me the experience to know what to look for. I found a commercial block with a lot of trucks along the curbs. In these cases, trucks were your friends. I pulled up next to a tractor-trailer with a flat-front, cab-over design. Judy had a better view into the cab than I did and said, “I don’t think anybody’s in there.” I hoped so; I didn’t want some lounging trucker to wake up and blow his air horn at a delicate moment for us.
There was another truck just in front of us; this was about the best we could hope for. After I had parked, she said, “Let’s get in the back seat. The steering wheel won’t get in our way.”
When we got out to change seats I glanced up and down the block but no one was around. When we were back there she said, “This is almost as roomy as the Pontiac.” I pitied people who had to make do with Volkswagen Beetles.
I looked at her pale knees and I had an urge to pull them apart. However, we had a make-out session first. Her kisses were softer and friendlier than Michelle’s. Michelle’s style was more insistent, implying that those were hers to take and she took them as needed.
She asked me, “What do you like about me tonight?”
“Let me see - your knee socks certainly helped.”
She laughed at that, “I get that. You know what I often say; look like a good girl but act like a bad one.”
“You are a good girl – you’re especially good when you’re flinging your ass around in bed or in some such place, like this car.”
Her blouse was much looser than her skirt; I started to pull the bottom of it up. She helped things along by unhooking her bra. First base: was that the old expression for this? Or was it second? I knew there was no shortstop. Buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks, I don't care if I ever get back.
As I sucked on her nipples I put my hand under her skirt and into her underpants. By her movements, I knew she liked that. I lifted her skirt to see what I was dealing with; her garment was glossy black with lacy side panels.
“Nice panties.”
“I thought you’d like them.”.
“Those socks are great too, as I said.”
“I know guys love them; it reminds them of their horny adolescence.” She had found that out from me months ago. Then she spoke into my ear, “I’ll get you off first and then you get me off.” That sounded like a completely satisfactory arrangement to me.
For my turn, I sat back and she undid my pants and took my cock out.
“Really nice,” is all she said as she hunched over me.
“Well it’s not exactly a novelty now, is it?”
Her blowjobs were like her kisses, friendly and comfortable. She had picked up, since last spring, a nice combination of sucking, licking and kissing.
As ran my hands through her frizzy hair I wanted to compliment her.
“Judy, you’ve obviously done this before.”
She stopped for a moment, “Of course, I’m not as innocent as I look.”
“Where did you learn this?”
I had asked her that more than once before. As usual, she said, “Well, from you, mostly; the rest is instinctual.”
She had different ways to handle my cum when it arrived, and she never told me beforehand what she would choose. Sometimes she would swallow it all; sometimes she would pull me out near the end. Then she would hand stroke me for a few moments until I shot off into the air. I was always pleased with either alternative.
Tonight she pulled me out and had me shoot into her mouth from a couple of inches away. This time my aim was good and only a little dribbled on her chin.
After I sat back in the seat and had caught my breath, I joked with her, “You shouldn’t leave your glasses on; I could get cum on them.” I had indeed done that more than once.
She took it in stride, “Just give me your handkerchief; I’ll be fine.”
I decided that I’d play a little game with her, a game of a type we had done before. I pulled my pants together and grabbed her arm.
“You’ve been a very naughty girl, Miss Weinberg; you need some discipline.”
She knew exactly how to respond, “Please, sir, don’t punish me.”
We even had a safe word, or rather a safe phrase, for these things: “Chicken pot pie.” That was never going to be misunderstood.
I pulled her across my lap; she braced her legs in the footwell. “This is the way it’s going to be. First, you’re getting spanked on the seat of your little skirt. Push your rear up, please.”
“But it’s going to hurt, isn’t it?”
“It’s supposed to hurt; that’s the point.” I was always struck by the silly and even hackneyed dialogue that went along with these activities, but maybe that was part of the fun.
I knew from other sessions that, even if this was playacting, Judy could deal with real punishment. Thus I gave her hard whacks, not pretend taps. She grunted as my hand came down on her. But then, I had myself been in the position of the naughty student and she could give as good as she received.
“Young lady, I know you’ve been giving blowjobs to boys in cars.”
“But sir, I study hard; I need some fun once in a while.”
“Well, how’s this for fun, then?”
After a few moments, I stopped and rubbed her, “I can feel you warming up under there. But I think you need more severe measures.” I grabbed the hem of her skirt and pulled it up.
“No sir, please don’t do that.”
“You’re wearing bad-girl underpants I see.”
She replied, “At my age, I’m not going to wear granny panties.”
“Maybe you should; all these are good for is to show off to boys.”
I got my hands under the waistband and pulled them down, “Your behind’s a little red, I see, but not nearly enough.”
“Sir, I think I’ve learned my lesson.”
“We’re just starting, Miss Weinberg; your ample buttocks were made to be corrected.” Nobody talks like this, I thought, but who cares?
As I spanked her bare flesh, she kicked against the seat in front of us, “Come on, young lady, control yourself.”
“I’m trying sir, I really am.”
I spanked her as much as I thought was needed. She could have said, Please sir, I’d like some chicken pot pie now, but she didn’t.
When I was done I rubbed her and said, “You’re glowing nicely now. Does this make it feel better?”
“A little bit, I suppose.”
I put my hands between her legs and pretended to be surprised even though I knew what I would find, “You dirty little girl, you’re all hot and bothered down there, aren’t you?”
“I couldn’t help it.” Then she moved her hips against my crotch, “And you, sir, you have a big erection right now.” She giggled as she turned over and said, “You’re young enough, you’ve got enough juice for another shot pretty soon.”
“Would you like more touching there?”
“Just a little; I’m about ready right now.” I supposed that what we have done so far had been a good warm-up.
