Sandy Ch. 01

Readers may have seen what Sandy's boyfriend told her and what he did not tell her.

This is the introduction to Sandy, herself, as told in the first person by the character in "Fire Island 1960 Something." He later refers to the young woman in that story as his Diotima. Somewhere in my data files, he tells about meeting two prep school seniors that week, Pam and Sukie, who wanted to meet their classmates' goal of losing their virginity before returning to school. Lucky girls, but that is another story; this is about Sandy. He also mentions a girl he tutored that winter, his "tutee".

He is now a student at Columbia, still a gymnast, and has a summer job in the city. To introduce Sandy, however, more background is necessary to understand this first chapter, which is mostly about Martha.

Martha is a Norwegian au pair in his family, a nice help in the household, obviously not there to mind young children. His parents leave her to mind the house his first week on the job, while they spend the week on Fire Island with his younger sister, after he spent a week with her there. As comes through in this chapter, his parents' late misgivings about leaving him and Martha together alone are entirely justified. During the week, he eventually admits that Martha's uncritical suspicions are correct, that he and his sister enjoyed each other's company more - better - than siblings should.

There are also stories about Martha and his sister hidden my data files, but this is about Sandy, after the Friday night at the end of his week with Martha. To get a little ahead of this chapter, Martha spends the following week with his sister on Fire Island, intended by his parents as a short vacation for her, but certainly not the way the two of them enjoyed it.

During the first week on the job, a certain routine had developed. The supervisor for the students seem satisfied with my work, and as I expected, at lunch Friday someone suggested that we all go out for a drink "and get to know each other better."

We met outside the building, and someone suggested that we go to an old Irish bar on Fifth Avenue. It was a "hold-out" against the development of a new office building that would fill the whole block, the old building standing on a corner at the edge of the great hole for the foundation. Inside, nothing seemed to have been changed since the place was built, a stark contrast to the new development, but comfortable, and the group agreed that it deserved our trade for not giving in to the developer's attempt to buy it out.

The guys ordered beer, and most of the girls ordered a glass of wine. One ordered something non- alcoholic. Then we exchanged information about where we were going to college and what we were studying - the usual introductory discussion. Someone knew that I was a gymnast, so I had to tell a little. And a couple of the guys seemed to be most interested in learning more about the girls, of course. It was about what I had expected. Most of us had a second drink, and then there was some friendly joshing about college rivalries, and a little discrete competition for the attention of the girls, and their varying responses: the one or other accepting an invitation for another glass of wine; another insisting that she would pay for own - but having one. Still another demured and nursed the one she had.

If I hadn't been looking forward to the evening with Martha, I probably would have joined in the competition and not just observed everything, but that was also interesting, and apparently made me more interesting: one of the girls asking me if I wasn't going to have another beer. So I did and offered to buy her a drink, and she accepted. When they came, I held my glass up and almost said "skaal" and we drank.

But then as we chatted, I was wondering how to avoid any suggestion that we go somewhere else. I glanced at my watch and said that I had said I would be home by eight o'clock. When she looked disappointed, I said apologetically:

"I should have suggested that we might go out for a drink, ... Friday night ..."

She smiled and looked more understanding, and then added - maybe in response to my mentioning home:

"I'm sharing an apartment for the summer, ... well most of the time, when she isn't flying. Her roommate got married, and she needed someone to move in as soon as possible, until she decides if she will stay there - with someone for longer - or whatever. She flies overseas - United - away for three or four nights."

I nodded, wondering if she meant her explanation to be as suggestive as it seemed. I had already learned that she was going to be senior at Sarah Lawrence College, whose students were reputed to be liberal, not just in the arts.

"You are lucky," I remarked, and then grinned facetiously, thinking I had nothing to lose, and added:

"Let me know when she's flying to Sydney."

She seemed immediately to understand my implication and replied:

"I didn't mean that, ... that way," but then she couldn't repress a smile and added:

"But I guess it could have sounded like it."

I nodded and agreed:

"It did, ... or at least could have."

We both snickered and had a sip from our drinks as I thought to myself that it didn't hurt to be a bit fresh. And she didn't seem to have minded, only mildly changing the subject by remarking that Bronxville, where Sarah Lawrence is, wasn't far from Columbia, letting me think that she could be suggesting that we see each other during the winter. Then we chatted about other things. We knew we could find each other in the company and didn't have to exchange addresses or phone numbers. When she suggested another drink - "on me" - I refused, saying that I didn't want to be too high when I got home, which was true, and then I left, saying: "Till next time," and she looked pleased, and then I was on my way "home."

I walked up Fifth Avenue, thinking the fresh air - on a hot summer evening in the City? - the walk would be good after three beers, and then wondered about a "next time," and then admonishing myself for thinking about that while on my way to spend another night - and day and night - with Martha. But then I rationalized that it fitted in with our understanding that our affair was just for the week, and that it also demonstrated that I wasn't too emotionally involved - just loving her when we were making love. But that wasn't such a nice thought either; it sounded fine when we had just been doing it, but a little cheap at that moment. And then I wondered how Martha felt about it, hoping that she felt like I did, but without having to go through my last thoughts. But she hadn't been in my situation - the suggestion of possibly doing it with someone else - so that wouldn't have occurred to her.

I hoped not, not liking the thought that if she had been, she might have had the same thought I had had. No, she had been home, naked, doing laundry and cleaning - a nice vision - and then next week she was going to be on Fire Island with my sister, and at the end of the month she was going home. Fire Island: what kind of bathing suit did she have? Would she and my sister somehow agree to go naked in the house? They would, if one of them suggested it, but how could that occur? What would my sister tell about our week together ...?!

The short uptown blocks go fast with such thoughts and questions, and then I was only wondering how Martha would greet me when I opened the door, but first, I was just entering the building, greeting the doorman, and then in the elevator.

When I opened the door, she called "Hi" and then came to greet me, wearing a dress - another one - smiling and making me forget about my uncomfortable thoughts on the way home.

"Hello," I answered as she came closer. She chuckled and said: "You smell like you've been in a bar." "I have," I agreed: "... three beers,"

"... and a lot of cigarette smoke," she added, grinning.

"I guess so," I agreed: "... I didn't know you could tell."

"Um-hmm, give me your jacket and I'll brush it."

"Does that help?" I asked as I took it off and handed it to her.

"Some," she replied and went off with it, while it occurred to me that I probably hadn't heard about that before, since no one smoked in our family, and we seldom went to bars like that one; my parents, never.

Martha returned with my jacket after I had gone to the bathroom and was beginning to change, hanging it on my chair while I appreciated that there was something especially attractive about her simple dress; not so much the dress, but the way it fit her when she moved. It wasn't tight, but it seemed to accentuate her strong thighs - certainly didn't hide them. Then it occurred to me that artists and cartoonists drew dresses fitting that way, but in reality they seldom did. Martha noticed me looking at her and smiled and explained:

"I went out, got some more beer, and then it seemed too ... " and she looked questioningly: "... too 'something' to take it off again." I nodded, and she went on:

"Just as well, your mother called again, saying that we should be there for lunch. I would have felt funny if I had been naked, talking to her."

I nodded again with a snort, and Martha grinned and said:

"Oh, you probably felt that way when she called this morning."

"I sure did," I agreed, grinning back at her: "... and good that you got the beer, thanks."

Martha nodded with a smile and explained:

"Yes, this time, I wondered if the doorman would notice and brought it back hidden in a bag from Macy's."

"Good idea," I agreed: "... he probably would have, and noticed that no one else is here. If you want, we can get some on Sunday for you to have on the island ... but I guess I should warn you that my sister will want some, too."

She snorted with a quick smile and said: "That too?"

"I'm afraid so," I admitted.

She nodded and then told me that my mother had also said that she could use the car on the island, if it was really necessary, but that they would prefer that she didn't. By then, I had finished changing, and we left my room and went to the kitchen.

It wasn't eight o'clock yet, and apparently after the beers and chips from the bar I didn't want a snack before dinner, and our conversation hadn't gone in that direction either, even though I had changed my slacks. Martha had already started to prepare the leftovers, and she had also started on a beer, glancing at me apologetically when she saw that I noticed the can.

"I didn't want you to get too far ahead of me," she remarked with a grin then.

"I'll slow down for you," I replied.

As Martha finished heating up the meal, she snorted to herself and then remarked:

"The nice thing about doing the laundry that way is that you can do everything, know that absolutely all your clothes are clean. It always seems a little frustrating, doing it and knowing that what you have on isn't clean, like especially when you go on a trip, not wanting wear the same underwear, but also not wanting leave it behind."

She glanced at me for my response, and I chuckled in agreement, able to appreciate the situation, although I had never done my own laundry till I was in college.

"I wish I could have helped you," I remarked: "... or at least have watched."

She smiled in response as she started to dish up, and then asked if we wanted to eat in the dining room, "since we're all dressed up." So we did, and I lit the candles again, which reminded her to tell that she had bought new ones: "the same kind," which in turn reminded me that I wanted to pay her back for them and the beer, but it didn't seem the right time to mention that, making me wish that I had given her money for them before hand.

Then I did get a beer, and she another one, in glasses, and we sat down. For a moment, I wondered if she was wanting to say grace again. She seemed to hesitate before picking up her knife and fork, and I would have liked it if she had, but then she just smiled at me with a nod, as though she understood, and then snorted slightly and said:

"I can't even say I hope you enjoy it; we've had it already."

"But I will," I assured her, and we began eating.

Of course, we skaaled, and then I told her about my experience in the bar, having to adapt my story in midstream from just drinking with the girl to making it a group toast, but Martha liked that I had remembered and appreciated her feelings, and asked about the group. I told her, relating my impressions, and she chuckled. When I had finished, she skaaled me, and then after a moment changed the subject.

"What do you think your sister will ask ...? You know, ... about us?" she asked.

"Good question," I replied: "... You're right; she probably will, ... or will be wondering. Certainly she will be wondering. It's not a question of what she will ask, but rather, if she will ask."

Martha nodded, and I had another bite, and then went on:

"You can tell her whatever you want. She probably would like to know that we have. If she asks, she will be thinking that we must have, ... and probably won't believe that we haven't, ... no matter what you say."

Martha nodded and agreed:

"That's sort of what I thought. I was thinking about it today."

"And if you say so, she'll probably want to know all the details."

I nodded, and offered a skaal, and she responded with a nice smile and nod, and then we finished our meal in silence, just exchanging glances; from me, at first about our conversation, and then wondering about what Martha was thinking, if her glances were still related to that or her thoughts had moved on to whatever we were going to do - as mine already had.

I said: "Takk for maten," and raised my glass, and she replied: "Vel bekomme," and we drank, finishing our beers. Then we cleared the table and blew out the candles and cleaned up the kitchen, both of us silent, like after our first dinner. And again it seemed like we were anticipating what would follow, but that it wasn't so clear just what that would be, and it occurred to me that I needed to shower and shave, but I didn't want to mention it too suggestively.

Then I remembered my question about what kind of bathing suit Martha had, and asked her. She looked pleased that I had broken our silence with a change of subject, smiling as she answered: "Oh, I've a got a bikini, too; more ... a little less cloth than hers probably. I hope so. I mean, I hope hers is more modest."

"It is, well, fairly modest. You know her figure, even a modest bikini suggests that she just doesn't want to flaunt it."

Martha nodded with a grin and added:

"And a one piece one, conservative enough, but I've grown since I got it. That was the summer after I had to start wearing bras, but it's jersey and stretches."

"You can give me a fashion show," I suggested.

Martha nodded with a chuckle as I realized that we had found away to get out of our clothes - her clothes, at least, and added:

"While I shower." She nodded again, and that settled what we were going to do next and had managed to get my showering included.

As we went back to her room, I was wondering if we should take the other candelabra with us, but didn't want to suggest candlelight in her bedroom at that moment, and she let me go into the bathroom alone, turning to find her bathing suits as I started to take off my clothes, finding it a little strange to be there alone.

"Which one first?" she called as I got into the tub and pulled the shower curtain across.

"The older one," I replied, and then was quickly showering and peeing again.

"Here, look," she said a minute or two later. I stuck my head outside the curtain and saw her standing in a one piece suit that did indeed look like it had been bought when she was a little younger, something like what girls on swimming teams wear.

"Nice, something Mother would approve of." Martha smiled impishly and started to slip off the straps, but then turned and left, and I shaved under the shower.

It seemed like it was taking her too long to change, but then she was back, saying:

"Look again," and I did. This time she had on a bikini more like the one my Diotima had had: just triangles over her breasts and a low-cut bottom.

"Even nicer," I commented: "... and you were right; less cloth than my sister's. Mother would not approve, at least not on my sister."

Martha nodded with a grin, and then I was finishing shaving as I heard her raise the lid of the toilet and then faintly heard her using it as I turned off the shower. After a moment, she handed me my towel past the curtain, and I started to dry myself as she flushed, wondering a little that we both seemed to have agreed to delay being nude together for as long as possible, but it couldn't be for much longer, and her using the toilet suggested that she could have taken off her bikini by then. It didn't seem likely that she would expect me to open the curtain with my towel wrapped around me.

But then she pulled the curtain open, standing in the nude and smiling at me as she said:

"I couldn't let you have to be naked all by yourself, ... though it was tempting, ... to see what you would do," and she grinned.

"Maybe put my clothes back on and go home," I suggested as I stepped out of the tub.

"Oh, then I'm glad I did," she replied: "... but I liked that we didn't before, dinner, and waiting. That was nice; that you didn't suggest it. I would have, but it was nice that we enjoyed ourselves with clothes on."

"I was thinking that, too, but then wondering what would happen, not wanting to say anything, myself."

"Um-hmm," she agreed and took my towel from me and hung it up as she added:

"And I still don't. "Well sort of, but not immediately. I turned off the lights and got the candles." "Um-hmm, I was thinking about them before, too," I replied, and then she took my hand and turned off the light in the bathroom, and we went into her candlelit bedroom.

Martha squeezed my hand and then slipped into her bed, moving over and holding up the covers, and I slipped in next to her, sliding my arm under her head.

"Um-hmm," she agreed softly, and then my other hand found her breast.

"Mmmm, ... um-hmm, I just want to lie here, next to you."

I nodded and rolled onto my back, and she cuddled up closer to me again with another hum drawing her thigh up on mine as her hand slid down, and her fingers slipped around my balls, massaging them gently like she had done the night before.

"I just love to hold you this way," she murmured, and her fingers moved familiarly.

"Um-hmm, me too," I agreed and rubbed her back.

She nodded her head on my shoulder as she went on:

"It's a lot better than just doing it the way it happened sometimes - not with you - more intimate, ... being able just to be like this: all naked and close," and her fingers moved: "... without feeling like we have to do it, ... without feeling like I have to do it, because that's all he wants."

"Um-hmm, real good, ... for me, too, ... 'more intimate'."

Martha nodded again, and then was silent for a few moments as her fingers just moved gently on my balls, then murmured:

"I just love to feel you this way, ... to know I'm holding you." She chuckled softly:

"Holding this part of you, ... what makes you a man," and she chuckled again as her fingers demonstrated what she meant.

"And I just love to hold you in my mouth. That's so good, ... better than when someone just wants to do it, and I'm not ready for it yet, even though I want it, ... but not yet. But being able to do that, knowing it's so good for you. ... But you never are like that, just wanting to do it. ... Oh, that was wonderful, the first night, ... that you did it to me, ... and that I then wanted to, to just try it, still thinking we had to do it. It was so arousing - like I told you - and then so much more arousing when I realized that I wanted to really do it. ... Oh, I just love you for that!" Her thigh pressed down on mine as her fingers moved my balls.