Perfidy At The Albion

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Oca 26, 2023 // By:analsex // No Comment

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I’m not sure why I tried my first bar pick-up, but it had something to do with my college girlfriend Michelle. At the end of our sophomore year in June 1975, she was starting to get flaky after going with me for nearly nine months. She suddenly found excuses not to meet me, and she often didn’t return my phone calls.The word going through the grapevine at my student newspaper was that she had been seen with an older guy – older as in his late twenties – who would come uptown to meet her on the campus and then leave with her in her car. Somebody told me he had a good job down on Wall Street. I, however, was attending the City College of New York, but I was otherwise unemployed.I suspected I had taken Michelle for granted. Although she was a full-time student, she worked steadily at a typesetting company and at the age of twenty already maintained her own apartment and car. Being young and callow, I just took advantage of these girlfriend-supplied amenities without any thought about my own lack of ambition. I’m busy enough with schoolwork and the newspaper, I thought.One day I was hanging around in the newspaper office when I got into a conversation with a fellow staffer named Peter Rodino. He styled himself as some kind of rogue although I didn’t necessarily believe every story he told. The exploits he liked to brag about included picking up women at bars and clubs.When I complained about my troubles with Michelle, he suggested that I “branch out.”I said, “You mean find somebody else here on campus?”“No, the girls here are all looking for boyfriends. You need something shorter-term while you figure out exactly what is going on with Michelle. I mean like for the summer only. Then in September, you could start over with something more serious.”He suggested that I try a bar as a place to meet someone new. In fact, he had a plan worked out for me. This was back when the drinking age in New York State was still eighteen. In fact, although I was rather young-looking for my age, I rarely got carded when entering a place.He said, “Try someplace in the afternoon. It’s quieter and there isn’t so much of a scene going on – fewer distractions.”“What kind of women go to bars during the day?”“Some of them are playing hooky from school or work, or maybe they’re working from home. Or they’re between jobs. You know the economy is not so great right now.”I mentioned a handful of bars I knew in Greenwich Village, all of them, places that I had been to with Michelle. Peter had another location to suggest.“Try this place called the Albion. It’s on Seventh Avenue in Chelsea. It’s a nice neighborhood kind of place.”He related a tale of how he had met a girl there who was some kind of writer and how he had connected by telling her about his work on the student paper. It sounded plausible although I had no way to verify that it had actually happened.I pressed him for techniques on approaching someone.“I admit, I’m not sure how to do this. I’ve never, you know, picked up a woman in a bar or in fact anywhere.” The campus itself was where I had always met girls.“Well, this will give you a chance to learn by doing. It’s sort of a dry run the first time out anyway.”Then he begged off and said he had to get ready for an end-of-term exam. In any case, I wasn’t that eager to go off by myself to look for women.What changed my mind a couple istanbul travesti of days later was when Michelle flaked out on another promise to meet me. It was an oppressively hot and humid afternoon, but I decided to leave campus and head downtown. I decided halfway through the subway ride to get off at 23rd Street and check out the Albion that Peter had recommended.When I arrived outside the place, I was feeling better. I’ll just have a couple of beers here and relax.As I opened the door and walked in, I noticed there was only one person at the bar, a young woman who appeared to be in her mid-twenties. She was to my right and I could see her in profile.She was on the tall side and she had dark hair. I inventoried her clothes first, from top to bottom: a straw summer hat with sunglasses perched on the rim, regular dark-rimmed glasses on her face, a white short-sleeved blouse, black slacks – what do they call those, clamdiggers or Capri pants? – and white sandals.She looks neat but casual. I wondered why she was here and I tried to convince – or perhaps delude – myself into believing that she was approachable. Maybe her glasses gave her a hot librarian look. My faithless Michelle had glasses too, steel-rimmed ones.Then too, I had met two girlfriends at City College already and a lot of my freshman diffidence had disappeared. Yet this was my first foray into the adult world beyond my school.I considered my own appearance, my college guy hot-weather sloppiness right down to my no-name sneakers. A related detail was that I had a loose-leaf notebook and another book under my arm. It was the custom for males in college then to continue the high school practice of simply carrying these things under one’s arm. Nowadays everybody from nursery school students to Ph.D. candidates has some kind of bag or backpack. Back then there was something not quite macho about bags, although one ever spoke about it.I had the option of just leaving and correcting these wardrobe and accessory mistakes on another visit. I decided to a least sit down and see if I could get a conversation going.With all the stools available, I sat on the second one to the woman’s right; I was between her and the door. I had no choice about the books; I had to put them on the bar. That made me feel like I should be ordering a milk shake.I glanced at what this lady was drinking. I guessed it was a gin and tonic or a vodka and tonic, so I ordered a vodka for myself.When I had my drink, I sipped it for a few moments and tried to look at her again without being too obvious about it. This lady two stools down from me didn’t look at all delicate. For one thing, she had a solid pair of hips, which I liked. Beyond that, she looked poised; she seemed completely confident that her barstool was the place to be at the moment. She had not acknowledged my presence in any way. She looked straight ahead and seemed engaged in her own thoughts.I wasn’t sure what options I had to approach her. She seemed to be at least twenty-five, a half-decade older than I was. The seconds were ticking by and I had nothing to say. Well, I had to come up with something, so I tried talking about my real situation.“I have had a lot of final exams to deal with this month, but I decided to take a break this afternoon.”That seemed really weak; I was already boring myself. She istanbul travestileri glanced at me and I expected her to say, Are you talking to me? Instead, she said, “Yeah, really?” It seemed to be a noncommittal response as if it would have been rude to completely ignore me.I tried, “Ah, I go to City College, it’s up in . . .”“I know where it is.” Again, she was not unpleasant; it was just a flat statement of fact.Something kept me going with this conversation. Maybe she would want to amuse herself and see exactly how inept I could get.The ball was in my court. “So I figured I’d go downtown and get a drink. Originally I was going to this place called Googie’s, it’s on Sullivan Street.”“I’ve been there. It’s such a dump. Their unisex bathroom is really a mess.”Wow, I got three sentences out of her. I said, “So I saw this place and it looked pretty good.” I offered no explanation of how I’d gotten off the train in Chelsea instead of the Village. Then I realized the details of that probably didn’t matter.She said, “I like coming here.”That was good; I wouldn’t be tempted to say, do you come here often? I thought of asking her if she lived nearby, but it was too early for that.So again the ball was there to hit. There was more of a tennis rather than a basketball analogy to this game. However, unlike an actual tennis match, I did have a second or two instead of a half-second to think about my move.I came up with, “They considered selling beer up at City College, but they shot down that idea.”Despite the irrelevance of my comment, it prodded her into asking me a question, “Don’t you have a girlfriend or somebody up there?”Peter had given me a piece of advice about just this sort of test. His idea was that women liked men who were “pre-selected” by other women. Thus I should fudge the issue and make it sound like I did have other options going.Fortunately, the truth might work here, “Yeah, well, things are a bit up in the air with her right now.”“Up in the air, huh? I suppose she doesn’t know you’re out here bar-hopping.”“She hasn’t seen me in a while so I came down here myself.”I noticed that she had turned slightly in my direction. It seemed that she was prepared for some kind of conversation, no matter how silly or brief.She said, “So of all the bars in this town you had to walk into this one.”“Oh yeah, Bogart.”She just nodded. I thought, please don’t make me work so hard on this.I said, “It is sort of a nice place.” She had already said that, so I needed to continue. I decided to lunge for it.I said, “Really, the best thing about it is that you’re here.” What would she do with that?She looked up and down the bar and said, “I noticed it’s not at all crowded and yet you placed yourself two chairs away from me.”“I guess I walked in and I liked your – hat?” That was bad; it had come out as a question.“You have a thing for women’s hats?”I was aware that I was willing to take chances if I assumed I had nothing to lose. Maybe that was a good lesson to learn.“Of course there is more.” She was obviously thinking, Like what? It was not yet time to be praising the shape of her ass even though I had indeed noticed it.I had an inspiration, “I like what you’ve done with your hair.” Compliments seemed good as long as they were plausible. I continued, “A lot of girls just grow it out and part it in the middle.” travesti istanbul Maybe I should have said women, not girls, but I had a fix for that. I said, “Besides, I like dark-haired women.”So there, I had served or volleyed or whatever the correct term was. I was curious about how she’d hit it back.She said, “So have a better look.” She took her hat off – sunglasses and all – and put it on the bar. She put both hands up and fluffed her hair even though it didn’t need that. Simultaneously she crossed her legs and put a sandaled foot against the panel under the bar. Is she being flirty or just messing with me? Maybe both?But she said to have a look, so I did. Her hair was short by the standards of the time. It went down just below her chin, and it was neatly cut with bangs so she had a Louise Brooks/flapper thing going. She had a yellow hairband across the top to hold it in place.I tried the celebrity gambit, “It looks like Louise Brooks.”She smirked at that, “Good line. You thought of that pretty quickly.”I was hit with an intense pang, a physical and emotional interest for this stranger. I had forgotten about Michelle entirely. Maybe Peter’s suggestion was making sense. Then I saw I had barely touched my vodka and I took a deeper draft of it.I was grateful that she had something to more to say, “I assume you must be – what, a sophomore?”“That’s right.”“You should know that I’m twenty-six so I must have a few years on you.”“I sort of knew that when I first saw you.”She looked me up and down, assessing me, “You’re not the most snappy dresser I’ve ever seen.”Don’t apologize. I shrugged and said, “Hey, I’m a student.”She nodded. She chose that moment to uncross her legs. “It’s so obvious that you don’t know how to do this – it’s almost endearing.”That could have been a compliment, but damnation with faint praise seemed more likely. I decided on my next moves.I said, “I’m Paul, by the way.”“Well hi, I’m Charlotte.”Pleased to meet you? No, don’t say that. But now that I had her name dropping it into the conversation seemed worthwhile.“Charlotte, I guess you must work near here.”“No, I’m up in Midtown.”“So then you must live around here.”“Oh, I get it.”I just kept plowing ahead, “I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to afford a Manhattan apartment.” Immaterial, Your Honor. Sustained. “But you like your apartment, right?”She shrugged, “Yes, I do.”That seemed like an important junction. I said, “I’d like to see it, I mean your place.”“Are you planning a career as a real estate agent?”“Maybe I will, maybe I will go into real estate.”She chuckled. It had been my first attempt at a joke, albeit a feeble one. But even if I hadn’t killed with it, I hadn’t completely bombed either.I added more, “We could go there, have another drink, chat for a while.”“So you expect some free liquor and an air-conditioned place to hang out.” That was a statement, not a question.“No, I want to talk to you.”She could have said, Why not talk to me here? Instead, she thought about it for a few seconds. She turned the stool so she was really facing me for the first time.She said, “You could use a few extra pounds.” True, I was quite thin. “And you may be twenty or so, but you look younger.” That was true too. She moved forward on the stool and leaned towards me; she had enough reach to flick the hair on the side of my head. “You could use a decent haircut too.” Like most guys my age back then I didn’t cut my hair until it had turned into a tangled mess.I decided to be quiet because I sensed she had her own follow-up ready. She did, saying, “In some strange way you are completely sincere.”

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