Now his enormous penis pounded within me, his hands under my buttocks holding me. I clung to him, and the sensation increased to a whirlwind frenzy of ecstasy. “Nick, harder, baby, harder. Give me more.”
Nick moaned in a rising crescendo,“I am going to come, babe.” And we both came simultaneously.
Nick stretched out on the bed, his swept back blonde hair was mussed; his long face and beautiful cleft chin were sweaty. I jumped up, darted to the bathroom for a quick shower. When I came out, I said to Nick, “We’ll talk more tonight. I grabbed my clothes and hurriedly dressed. Looked back at the bed at Nick in glorious nudity, his ejaculation sprayed all over the sheets. I tossed him a towel.
“That was real nice,” he said, as I moved to the door. With one foot out, I turned. “Yes, it was, baby. Yes, it was real nice.”
A few days later, I moved out of Nick’s room at the Chelsea. I stood awhile at the front desk, shaking my head, smiling, pursing my lips and finally said a fond goodbye to Brad. “You’re a great guy. Thanks for looking after me.”
Brad smiled back a bit nervously and wished me lots of luck.
“We’ll miss you,” he said.
“You still have Nick,” I said.
“Oh, yes. When he’s here.”
We shook hands across the desk. I walked to the door, and spun back quickly and waved. Sure enough, Brad was waving at me.
Did you ever feel a new chapter of your life was opening up for you? At that moment I had that very feeling, and was ready to roll with the waves. Why not? I had a new job, new apartment, and terrific new friends. I was convinced the guys will always be there for me.
Chapter 5
During the ensuing weeks Nick, Ethan and I expressed our love for one another, desires to be together always, one woman and two men, but welcoming our mornings from three separate windows, together each evening, and creating a life we anointed as full of freedom and promise.
It was never necessary to arrange a date; it was a given that we would share the evening and night together. Basically phone calls would begin mid-afternoon. Usually one of the guys and often both were aware of this or that party, or this or that gallery showing, or this or that fashion event, or poetry reading, or music – or some cultural and fun event, often laced with availability of lots of dope. Nick got his information from the many people he knew, hangers on, mutual pill poppers, art scene aficionados, and Warhol staffers; Andy was such a celebrity horse; always looking to rub shoulders with the what I was told he called A list people.. Ethan generally achieved his invites through Esquire, since event planners always sought out prestige media coverage.
At these happenings conversation among the three of us flowed like unstoppable waves in a raging sea; each of us desirous of informing the other of our inner desires, philosophies, restraints and hopes; and straightaway upon meeting, we always proclaimed how wonderful one another looked, bringing out smiles and a glowing warmth.
Often we would share early experience in social discourse and sexuality; never ever mindful of who was standing near us.
At a private party at Bergdorf Goodman for Halston, the designer. Halston was famous for Jackie Kennedy's pillbox hat, which she wore at the presidential inauguration of her husband JFK. I told the guys, when I was eight years old, I had a crush on David Kubronski, a nerdy, guy with little pus pimples on his face, an old fashioned nose, that hoked to the left, large ears, and I later learned there was a pimple on the left side of his penis. Mamma was next door with Mrs. Warhola for tea and gossip, and Pops was working, of course. I had figured out when I could be alone, even for a little while. I was so tightly supervised.
“This was your out of school showand tell. Right? Stuff you couldn't do in the classroom,” Ethan interrupted as he cocked his head, showing a beaming face,with a mirthful snicker.
Nick pressed us into a corner of the room adjacent to a wall of fashionable photos of Jack and Jacqueline Kennedy: President Kennedy in a dark blue suit, one hand in his jacket pocket, Jackie at his side in a pink cloth coat and pillbox hat; Jackie in sleeveless print gingham dress, Jack in open collar long-sleeved white shirt, and khaki pants, holding hands on a back porch in Hyannis Point; Jack in formal attire, Jackie looking radiant as ever in low neckline, sleeveless black formal dress, with white full-length gloves. Yes, these were good-looking, well-favored and loving photographs of the quintessential Camelot couple.
We scanned the wall for a quick moment, and then I went on. “The strange thing is, David
“Who?” the guys interrupted.
“The boy at school whom I was talking about. David always avoided me in the lunchroom, but smiled as we passed in the hallway.”
At this point, Nick became attentive. He drew some breathe in from his nostrils, and arched his back, to straighten his posture. Oh, those thick, smoldering and luscious lips, I began thinking.
“I think I'm going to like this. Anna is leading us up to her first sex act, when she was eight. Is that it?' Nick said.
“No, that's not it,” I replied, feigning disappointment. “You have sex on your mind, constantly. No. We just played doctor and patient. David said I should be the doctor and examine him. And he lay on his back on my bed, and I touched his head with the back of my palm telling him, he didn't have a fever. But he wanted me to feel around his abdomen area. David was worried he might have an appendicitis attack, he told me. We you believe this eight year old's mind. I didn't hesitate to feel around down there, but when he began breathing heavily and stiffened, I pulled back. Don't be shy, the always quiet, David said and unzppid his fly to show me his …. magic wand,” as he called it
“So it was show and tell,” Ethan remarked, in a triumphant tone.
“I suppose so.”
“And you did nothing else,” Ethan asked, his cheeks ruddy and sweet looking.
“No. Well, yes. I just ran my fingers over his balls and skinny penis and placed the whole thing back in his pants.” There seemed to me a smile of triumph and happiness in Ethan's face. I wondered why for a moment and concluded he genuinely enjoyed this triangular thing. I felt my wish for free-love affair was becoming true.
Of course, Nick's tales that evening were quixotic, fanciful, bringing a smile to my lips, mostly a smirk to Ethan's. Everything about our relationship was happening so quickly, and that was fine with me. At this moment of my mature life, I had an insatiable thirst for knowledge, mature friendships and love. Oh, that word love. But I mean free-love in all its forms. A passionate desire to be together, to be understood, to be held, to be regarded warmly. Hopefully Nick and Ethan reached the same point in their lives. It seemed to me they were very much on their way.
Nick shook his head, as if he was about to tell us of an explosive early history of his sex life. Then he began to laugh. Ethan and I looked at each other, quizzically. Finally Nick went on. “You see, we were both fourteen at the time, and there was an old abandoned barn maybe half a mile from where I lived.”
“Where was that?” Ethan asked.
“New Jersey, Millville. New Jersey. I had girl friends before Elizabeth. That was the name of the girl, I had in the barn. But Elizabeth was special because for at least a month before, I 'd been trying to enter her and she would tighten up, and I couldn't penetrate. She told me she had trouble inserting Tampons. Gosh was I flustered and I had only one objective, to dive in.
“Is this going to be a long story. I think I'll look around and come back. Okay Ethan said.
“Suit yourself,” Nick replied.
Well, Ethan didn't go, but hung in as Nick finally made his point. “I massaged her down there very slowly and held her, and then slowly fingered her.”
“Hey I don't need a point by point description. See you back here in a few,” Ethan said and took off.
“Well babe, just you and me,” Nick said.
“Yes, but I hoped we would all share.”
Finally Nick told the story that his two finger massage relaxed her enough to penetrate.
“Was that your first use of fingers?”
“Oh no. I used to do this a lot for other girls and they went crazy.”
“I'll bet,” I said thinking how Nick had mastered the art of finger fucking. Still I wanted Ethan to hang in. I knew how free and easy I felt with Nick. I could tell him anything, and he would listen and make me feel good and important. And surely, Nick was extremely open with me. Maybe he was that way with others too. I don't know. But Ethan was another story, and I believed with all my heart that if this open romance were to work and bring us ever and ever closer, we all had to be open books.
Nick grabbed and hugged me. “Let's circulate and find Ethan.” I stood on my toes. Nick bent over towards me, and I planted a big wet kiss on his lips. I wanted to dig into him and discover all the ingredients of life that made him a great lover; or was it his huge penis and all attendant hormones, brain waves, and emotional attitudes that supported his easy sexuality.
Chapter Six
A couple of days later the two guys arrived at my new apartment; the place was in disarray with clothes and undergarments thrown on the sleeping couch in the living room, and over the shower rod in the bathroom. I had hoped to introduce Nick and Ethan to both my roommates; only Caroline was here this evening. She seemed always to be at the apartment, either doing up her hair, or bathing, or manicuring her nails. And always strutting about the apartment in a her pink fluffy cotton robe and large rabbit ear slippers.
Nick gave her the once over, checking her red curled up hair, and freckled round face, and huge eyes, that often stared, freezing a moment until she squinted. It was a strange look, trance like, I would say. Nick smiled, the one that always made me want to melt in his arms. My gaze stayed on Caroline, watching how she would react. “And this is Nick,” I finally said. And this is Ethan,” I said pointing to Ethan.
She rubbed her hands on her bathrobe, as if drying wet palms and then looked up with a faint smile. “Nice to meet you both. Isn't Anna the lucky one, to have two, mind you, two handsome friends,” Caroline said, her look now contemptuous. Her eyes were wide open and the white dominated as her pupils contracted. She gazed past us, it seemed somewhere other than here, but in outer space. Within a few moments Caroline strolled to the bathroom, carrying towels, pressed against her chest. “Enjoy your evening.”
“We will,” I said. “Enjoy yours too.”
“Good meeting you Caroline,” the guys shouted at a closed bathroom door and a streaming sound of pulsating water.
When we left the apartment, and as we rode down the elevator to the lobby floor, Nick said, “Weird. I will say again, that chick is weird. Scary weird, you know. A kind of girl who does bad things.”
“Oh Nick, that remark is so not you. Oh, I see, your big smile didn't work on her. Caroline is shy, that's all,” I said.
“Maybe she doesn't date much,” Ethan chimed in.
Outside the air was sticky, and looking west across Forty-ninth Street a fully blown huge orange sun hung above the Hudson River, as if in a final act of hot desperation to fend off the oncoming evening.
“It's an oven, no breeze, just hot air,” Ethan said.
“Yeah, hot air, mostly coming from you, Ethan,” Nick called out, and jabbed Ethan’s arm. The two looked at me, and I frowned. I think that's what they expected.
We planned on going to a Marilyn Monroe retrospective. This was barely a week after Marilyn’s housekeeper found her dead in the bedroom of her Brentwood, California home. Marilyn died of an overdose of barbiturates, and was mourned openly by the great gentleman Joe DiMaggio, the New York Yankee ball player and her former husband.
Conspiracy theorists, though, were in full force. Did Robert Kennedy, the President's brother, or did any of the Kennedys, or the actor Peter Lawford, all reported friends of Marilyn, know intimate details, or have anything to do with her death? Or did the Mafia? NY Daily News columnist Florabel Muir, only three days after Monroe's death, reported that Marilyn’s phone records had vanished.
Film retrospectives of Marilyn sprung up at various movies houses all over the city. The Downtown Motion Picture Forum was showing “Niagara” the film noir thriller, photographed, strange as it may seem, in Technicolor. This was Marilyn Monroe’s first major film starring role, released back in 1953.
We walked from my apartment, that evening down to Forty-second Street and Third Avenue to the Horn and Hardart Automat, where we changed dollars for nickels and plied the turnstiles beneath the glass covered cubicles, that displayed sandwiches. We sat at a square table at the huge window facing Third Avenue.
“How someone so beautiful could have so many problems,” I offered.
“Hey, she got the fame she wanted,” Nick said.
“And paid a price,” I said.
“She was unclouded sexuality … a sex kitten,” Ethan added.
“Was that her predicament?“ I asked.
“Sex kitten? What's that, Playboy Magazine talk?” Nick scolded Ethan. “Damn. Don't you have a point of view that's yours?”
Ethan shook his head vigorously, but did not say a word; neither did I. These last times the boys bickered; I viewed this as a form of male competition, I suppose. I reminded myself that we had spent several pleasant evenings together, boozing and doping, with banter and sexual innuendo; that kind of good fun was more the norm.
“No wait. You’re born with that trait, making you a sex kitten. I'll say it again, sex kitten. And you learn to accept what you have,” Ethan continued, and leaned over and gave me a huge hug.
“I suppose,” I replied, giggling a little as Ethan wrapped his arms around me.
Nick didn't respond to Ethan's sex theory, but told us that Andy had garnered a stack of publicity photos of Marilyn, “literally plucked a black and white photo out of the pile, the other day, cropped it and started a silk-screening process.”
“So, Andy’s painting from a publicity photo?” I asked as Ethan released me, but holding on to my hand. “I wonder who the photographer is. Poor guy, a publicity photographer will never get any credit for his work.”
“Silk-screening,” Nick said, palming my other hand. “That's what Andy is doing now to the photo.” I swear, at this moment I had an image of the three of us hopping and skipping down a yellow brick road.
“Just like Andy. Hollywood glamour. That’s his middle name. I think he always wished he was a movie star.” I laughed and winked at Ethan.
“You know, I’d like to see that work and talk with Andy about the painting. Can you arrange this?” Ethan asked.
Nick nodded, “Sure, pal. We're buddies. You know that.”
“I know that, Nick. Just being sure you know that too.”
We finished dinner at the Automat, garnered pie through the glass compartments, filled a mug with coffee filled from a spigot, and sat a few more minutes. Soon, we left the cafeteria, walked downtown for several blocks and hailed a cab. The night seemed to cool down a bit; a warm breeze wafted across our faces. When we got to the movie theater a long line of people waited. After twenty or so minutes, we made our way inside and settled in our seats in the middle of the theater.
As I watched the film, a funny feeling suddenly overtook me; Marilyn was dead; no one will ever know how she would age, or what her looks would come to. I felt sorry for her in many ways; her death at a young age, of course; her struggle with identity; a lack of honesty by people who surrounded her; Marilyn's yearning for fame. So, at that moment I decided to visit my hairdresser, well as soon as I could stir up enough courage, that is, and get a complete make over. I wanted to be Marilyn, so I could remember her, and her many fans wouldn't forget. Silly me, I thought.
As we left the movie theater,we agreed the film was noirish, as Nick phrased it. We headed over to the White Horse Saloon.
Entering the White Horse, I told the guys, “I'm going to color my hair blonde, and wear that rich red lipstick. I already wear tight clothing. What do you guys think? I will become a look a like for Marilyn Monro
e.“
“Can you wiggle your ass like Marilyn?” Nick asked.
“I sure can,” I said and did a little shimmy shake. At the door I turned to the guys. “I love our friendship. It's so important to me. I hope we’ll always be honest with one another.”
Nick stood tall, jerking his shoulders. “What brought this on?”
“Not sure,” I said. “Probably Marilyn's death. The loss of life. I don't know.”
I knew at that moment that for complete trust and honesty and love for the guys to blossom, I had to tell them about my teenage pregnancy, and to talk about my parents. I had to say, and hear what I had to say about my pregnancy my feelings, all my emotions. and the birth of a son; I knew I had to tell them and myself. The old fears shot through my head and I slipped back in time, to the pain I had caused myself and my mom and pop. My heart pounded. Could I ever understand their hurt? Well they’re gone now. Then I turned to my recurrent question, why, why, why.
Blissful Interlude: J. G. ROTHBERG Page 5