Summer of 1980. I was again in New York for several days after a couple of weeks in San Francisco and before flying back to Amsterdam. One balmy evening I felt like a stroll along Eighth Avenue, up from Times Square and heading away from the Port Authority Bus Terminal. An old haunting grounds from my later teenage years. At around 46th Street, I noticed this stunningly beautiful black girl. And from the way she moved, oh so casually, I knew for sure she was working. I ambled up beside her and said hello.
We started talking, I asked how much, she said twenty dollars, I said that’s fine and asked where to exactly. The hotel she was staying in, it’s close by, she replied, and we went there. Only they wouldn’t hand over the key to her room, she was behind on the rent and my twenty bucks would hardly cover that.
fernanda cordeiro (click to enlarge)
Never mind, I said, we can go to my hotel, it’s in the Village. We’ll take a taxi or hop on the subway, you decide. The subway was okay with her, so we did that, the E train to West 4th Street and a pleasant walk to Waverly Place and what back then was still the Hotel Earle.
Once inside my room we carried on a lively conversation even as we both slowly undressed. I’d given her the twenty, she’d put it in her purse, and left that lying on one of the dressers. She really was exquisite, and in every respect. Medium height. Slender but far from skinny. Long black hair, femininely handsome facial features, firm shapely breasts neither small nor overly large and with piercingly taut nipples. Smooth skin the color of very dark chocolate. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
We were down to our underpants, mine briefs without a fly and hers pitch black bikini panties. At which point she sat on the bed and crossed her legs, not in a lotus position or anything but with her knees spread wide and one ankle over the other. Still standing, I asked if maybe she’d like something to drink, I had a small bottle of cognac, Remy Martin. That’d be nice, she said, just a little and also a cigarette. I fetched two water glasses from the bathroom and poured a small amount into each. Her cigarettes were by her purse. I tapped out a fag, lit it, passed her that and her drink and lit a menthol for myself. We half raised our glasses and took sips. What a lovely body, what a delightful creature. All of her. Which is when I saw, or thought I saw… That is what I was seeing, wasn’t it? It was ever so slight, not so much a bulge as a hint of one. I stared for some moments before gently lifting my gaze up past her narrow midriff, her bosom, to her twinkling eyes and calmly smiling lips.
“Really?” I said.
Now her eyes sparkled and her lips truly smiled. She slid off the bed, stood, slipped out of her panties, and came over and locked me tightly in her arms, pressing what had been tucked virtually out of sight hard against my thigh. I returned her embrace in kind, and then pulled away only long enough to reach for my wallet and take out another twenty dollar bill.
Handing it to her, I said: “I wish it could be more. You definitely deserve it. You’ve made my day, my…!”
Cutting me short with a fleeting kiss, she placed the money on a dresser, dropped to one knee while relieving me of my briefs, lovingly stroked me with her fingertips, then rose and took me by the hand. “Dim the lights and come to bed,” she said. “And let me make your night, too.”